


Phantasm

by lovethosehobbits (tree1110)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree1110/pseuds/lovethosehobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While attempting to climb Carhadras, Frodo is increasingly tempted by the ring. After a major accident a strange being comes to his aid, but is she friend or foe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trials and Tribulations

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely AU. Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Phantasm Chapter One

Trials and Tribulations

He was exhausted and his chest ached painfully as he tried to pull the thin air into his lungs. They had climbed for what must have been hours until his feet had lost all sensation. He wished, not for the first time, that he'd had a walking stick. But then again, the snow was so deep he was sure it would have been more of a hindrance than a help. He slipped and fell to his knees for the fifth time in an hour.

"Mr. Frodo, are you alright, sir?" Sam was instantly by his side helping him up.

"Yes Sam, I am fine," he growled. He hated being short with Sam but had grown weary of the constant attentions of the Fellowship. He coughed thickly and rose to his feet. He staggered as a wave of vertigo swept over him and black sparks snapped before his eyes. The brilliant white landscape sent slivers of pain through his eyes and into his head. The once pale complexion was now red and chapped and his lips were so dry that they had cracked and bled.

"Are ya sure, sir? You don't look so good, beggin' your pardon," Sam said studying his master's worn appearance. He noted the dark blue circles under Frodo's eyes and the hollowed cheeks that were red from the wind and sat amidst a sea of pale skin.

"'M fine," Frodo mumbled and began trudging up the mountain once again. Sam stood and watched as his master walked slowly away, and shook his head. Frodo watched as Boromir herded his two cousins along. They had long since ceased their happy banter and complaints about lack of food and now struggled behind the huge man as he broke a trail for them to walk in. Gandalf led the group, fighting through the snow with his tall staff, stopping periodically to find the covered path. Gimli trailed along behind Merry and Pippin, his breaths blasts of white fog on the cold mountain air. Sam, with Bill, followed Gimli speaking soft words of encouragement to the small pony as he struggled to bring his tired legs up and out of the snow. Legolas moved across the snow as if it were no different than a cloud, running first to the fore then back along the chain of souls traversing the harsh landscape. Frodo watched him as he swept past him up the slope like he was walking on air and felt sudden envy for the elf's infinite grace, long legs and small feet; allowing him to traverse the slope easily. He suddenly felt self conscious of his short, stubby legs, overlarge feet and total lack of grace, whatsoever.

"Oof," Frodo swore a dwarfish curse as he slipped and fell once again. 'Should've watched what I was doing instead of watching that annoying elf,' he thought to himself.

"Frodo? Perhaps we should stop for awhile so that you might take a rest," Aragorn said worriedly, as he pulled Frodo to his feet.

"That is not necessary," Frodo said stiffly. Aragorn looked hard at Frodo's face.

"Are you ill, Frodo? You seem to be having trouble breathing and your color is not good," Aragorn asked as his healer side kicked in and he scrutinized the ringbearer.

"I am fine," Frodo said tersely, enunciating each word carefully, pulling his hood up to hide his features. He turned and, once again, resumed the climb. Aragorn was not so certain about Frodo being 'fine'. While he had stood before him he had noticed a definite blue tinge to the hobbit's normally pale complexion. Dark circles wreathed his eyes while the lips had been of a purplish hue. Also there had been the gurgling rasp he had heard with each of Frodo's inhalations. He made a mental note to check him over thoroughly at the next rest stop that they took. He looked up at the huge expanse before him, *if* they found a place to rest, that is. They would be most fortunate to find any haven to shelter them, even for just a few hours, against the unrelenting wind and cold. Carhadras loomed over him, its huge pinnacle a mocking finger, as they clamored across the expanse of the open, unprotected dome at its base. He sighed. He would follow closely behind Frodo and carry him, if necessary, to get to the first rocky outcrop and, perhaps, some small shelter.

No one spoke, no one except the Ring, that is. Frodo had almost grown accustomed to Its incessant threats, cajoling and promises over the last few weeks. He knew he must have been going insane to be able to almost ignore It as It wove Its way about his consciousness. He could have, perhaps, ignored the unceasing litany if It had only allowed him some small peace while he tried to rest. But It was as if It knew he needed that tranquility and so redoubled Its efforts, tearing at his mind even more relentlessly at those times. As a result Frodo had not slept, not rested, in many long days and nights. The results were inevitable; he became more and more fractious and perturbed. He had lost any appetite he had once had, the mere thought of food bringing on nausea, and snapped at any who tried to make him eat. He began to feel that he was being observed from within the Fellowship, as well as from without, and this only made his agitation and paranoia more pronounced. The lack of food and slumber had made his limbs ungainly causing him to fall frequently and he found he could scarcely carry on a conversation, even if he had *wanted* to, which he hadn't, because he could no longer think clearly enough to complete a sentence. This left him reeling in a constant state of numbness where all he heard or felt was what the Ring wanted him to. It was a constant battle of wills between he and the Ring, but his strength was ebbing and he feared the Ring would win while he succumbed to madness.

They toiled upward until, finally, they had stopped for a short rest after midday. As Aragorn had thought there was no respite from the biting wind and they had been forced to stop in the center of the huge expanse of open hillside, and sit in the snow to eat a meager meal and rest, if they could. Groans were heard all around as packs were shed then opened in search of any food that wasn't too frozen to eat. Frodo sat down heavily, pulling his cloak about him, and curled onto his side. Sam selected some dried fruit, a husk of hard bread and some jerky and approached the prone figure.

"Here, Mr. Frodo, somethin' for you to eat, sir," he said cheerily. He produced a water skin and sat down next to his master. Frodo's eyes were closed but Sam could tell he wasn't asleep by the trembling of his arms and legs and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Master?" he said placing a light hand on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo rolled over slowly eyeing the gardener. "Somethin' to eat, sir?" he said again, softly.

Frodo blinked, trying to focus on Sam's face. "No. No, thank you, Sam. 'M not hungry," Frodo murmured closing his eyes and rolling back over.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but you ain't eaten naught for better'n a day. Now, I could get Mr. Strider and see what he says about this whole thing or..."

"Fine Sam. Fine," Frodo fairly snarled. "I'll eat." He slowly sat up, his head pounding at the sudden movement and watched as the landscape pitched oddly. He felt his stomach lurch. He grit his teeth to keep from retching and turned to face Sam. Sam ignored the sharpness with which Frodo's words had been spoken, too delighted to have succeeded in getting his master to eat even if it had involved trickery. He handed Frodo first the water skin and, after Frodo had drank, gave him the small plate. Frodo swallowed thickly as he looked over the offering.

"I'm sorry it couldn't be more, Mr. Frodo," Sam murmured after seeing Frodo's reaction.

"It's fine, Sam, thank you," he gave the gardener a small smile and Sam left to take care of Bill. Aragorn watched the exchange and was silently impressed with Sam's use of blackmail to get the ringbearer to eat. He sat, unobtrusively smoking, and watched Frodo reach out with shaking hands to grasp a small sliver of dried apple. He frowned in concern. Trembling, to a degree, was to be expected in such frigid terrain but this was more than some minor tremor. Frodo placed the tidbit in his mouth and chewed slowly. After swallowing he retrieved another piece of apple and repeated the motion. In this manner he ate most of the fruit. After looking sureptuously about him to make sure no one watched, he buried the hard bread and meats covering it over with more snow. A few moments passed where he sat and stared off at the harsh landscape and then he slowly rose and began to walk away.

"Somethin' I kin get for you, sir?" asked Sam from over by Bill. Frodo stopped and Aragorn watched as he stood very still, his back to them all, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"No Sam. Just going to use the privy," he said, his voice hoarse. He began to walk off again, as Strider continued to watch, until he had separated himself from the others by sufficient distance in order to relieve himself while being unobserved. But as Aragorn watched he saw him fall to his knees and begin retching. Aragorn was on his feet immediately, moving quickly, but not so fast as to alert the rest of the Fellowship. When he reached Frodo's side, Frodo was burying the evidence and wiping his hands and mouth with his cloak.

"Frodo?" Frodo jumped, startled that someone had stole up behind him and possibly seen him being sick in the snow.

He glanced quickly up at Aragorn. "Can't I even go to the loo without someone following me?" he growled.

Aragorn spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. "I apologize, Frodo, but I thought perhaps men and hobbits ideas of relieving themselves must be very different because that was *not* what I witnessed," Aragorn said gamely.

"What? So now you're spying on me when I go to the bathroom? How dare you. Have I no rights to privacy anymore?" Frodo hissed.

"Again, my apologies, Master Baggins, but you have not acted well for this whole day so I have been watching you more closely," Aragorn replied, refusing to back down, as Sam would have, and simply walk away. "You are ill, Frodo, and I want to look you over to see what might be done to correct the situation," he said firmly.

"No."

"What did you say? You have little choice in the matter, Frodo. I care about you and want you to stay healthy. I know that the Ring is exacting a high toll on your mind and body and want to make sure that you have sufficient strength to fight off Its influence and feel some small amount of peace, by taking care of you and making your other burdens lighter.

Frodo had laughed bitterly at the mention of 'finding peace', something he seldom had anymore. "That is very kind of you, Aragorn, but I am fine. My stomach was just too unsettled to tolerate the fruit, is all and now I feel much better." He stood, staggering back a step and Aragorn reached out to him, but Frodo held his hands up saying, "Just a little post retching dizziness, nothing to worry about, I assure you," he quipped weakly. Giving Aragorn a wide berth, he slowly walked back towards the rest of the group. Aragorn bent and uncovered the offal and saw that there was bile, apples and blood in the vomit.

He clenched his teeth and glared at the back of the retreating ringbearer. "Nothing to worry about, indeed, Master Baggins," he muttered. "Well, this may call for more drastic measures," he rose, dusting his hands of the snow, and rejoined the group.

Frodo lay curled, as before, ensconced in his cloak, on the snow. He looked up and saw Aragorn giving him a searching look and then looked away. Boromir approached and knelt down next to him. He involuntarily flinched away from the Gondorian. He couldn't help his reaction ever since Boromir had held the ring aloft after Frodo's tumble down the snowy slope. Frodo had stood helplessly by and watched as he had almost taken possession of the evil trinket.

"Peace, little one. You do not need fear me. I came to see if you would like to use my furred cloak to lie upon," the man offered with a disarming smile.

"That is very kind of you, Boromir, but perhaps my cousins would have better need of it," Frodo said formally, remembering how much the two had been shivering earlier.

"Ah, but there is room for all, Frodo." Merry and Pippin appeared at Boromir's side each sporting a wide grin and munching on apple slices. Frodo winced to watch them eating the fruit that had been so offensive to his stomach earlier. "Very well, thank you for your kindness," Frodo said stiffly. Merry and Pippin exchanged glances at the stilted response, so unlike their cousin's usual light hearted speaking tone.

Boromir left to retrieve the cloak as Pippin ran to get Sam to join them. Merry looked down at Frodo. "Cousin, are you all right. You seemed a mite hard on old Boromir just now?" he asked with a concerned look.

"Just very tired, Merry," Frodo said as calmly as he could. Boromir returned and spread the thick cloak on the snow. The fur was deep and luxurious and easily accommodated the four hobbits. Merry lay down first with Pippin next to him, then Frodo and Sam lastly on the outside. After they were all spooned comfortably together, Boromir covered them all in blankets. He bade them a nice rest and left to join the others a ways off. They slept, even Frodo dozed for a few hours being warm for the first time in days until, at last, it was deemed time to resume their march.

They collected their packs, loaded Bill, although lightly so as not to weigh the poor pony down unduly, and began the arduous ascent. Frodo recalled the previous morning with a pang. They had spent the night in a grove of trees in a place Legolas had called Hollin. All that remained of the previous inhabitants had been tumbled ruins. They had had a small fire next to a babbling stream that was fed by the mountain he now toiled up. It had been a peaceful place to make camp and the fire sounded particularly welcome now as he had long since lost all feeling in his feet. What Frodo had delighted in the most had been the hot cup of tea that Sam had placed in his cold hands; never had anything tasted so good or been so gratefully received. He had even made Sam's day by beaming a grateful, and genuine, smile up at the gardener, which Sam had returned three fold. Frodo felt sudden guilt that such a small gesture as smile had made his friend's step lighter.

"Mr. Frodo, you're about to walk off the mountain there, sir. What are you daydreaming about, if you don't mind me askin', that is?" Sam asked, as he gently steered Frodo back onto the path.

"Oh Sam, I was thinking how wondrous a hot cup of tea would taste right now. It's funny how one takes things for granted when they can't be had. Like a hot cup of tea or two," he smiled wistfully at Sam, making the gardener's heart clench in pity. "Or a nice fire to warm one's feet by. Oh how I miss the simple luxuries that I so long took as everyday occurrences," he continued sadly. He turned his head and pretended to look at the mountains so that Sam would not see the slow tears tracking down his face.

"Well sir, you might jes' be in luck. Legolas there says there's a small cave in them rocks up there. Mayhap Gandalf will allow us a fire tonight and you might have that tea after all," Sam said with a smile. Frodo smiled wanly back at him.

"That would be nice," he said weakly. He didn't hold out much hope that a fire would be had. After the crebain had flown over when they had camped in Hollin, they had crept up the mountain hoping against hope that they could climb as discreetly as possible and, thereby, go unnoticed. He sighed. Sam had meant well, but Frodo found that instead of feeling hopeful he felt more depressed than ever. Sam walked ahead to talk with the elf and Frodo continued his struggle with the snow alone. He felt something cold hit his face and looked up. It was snowing again and he pulled up his hood, once more. He stumbled yet again, and instead of getting up just knelt in the snow, panting.

"Are you all right, Master Baggins?" Aragorn asked as he studied the fallen hobbit. His tone was formal after the previous encounter, but he could not keep a note of concern from entering his voice. Deep, wracking coughs suddenly overtook the hobbit, and Aragorn immediately pulled Frodo to his feet and spun him around. There was blood on the hobbit's lips and his eyes were closed.

"Frodo, you are ill. You must allow me to examine you," Aragorn said softly.

"I am fine," Frodo said slowly as his eyes crept open.

"You are not *fine*, ringbearer, that much is obvious," Aragorn growled. "Now, you *will* let me look at you, and that is not a request," he hissed. Sam materialized next to the ranger.

Frodo pulled back, staggered, and then caught himself. "No, you will not. As I said, I am fine, just a little tired is all," he grumbled.

"Mr. Frodo, I could carry your pack for you sir," Sam said reaching out to grasp the article.

Frodo moved out of Sam's reach. "No Sam, you have your own to carry which is already too heavy, I will not allow you to further burden yourself with mine as well," Frodo said curtly, straining to be courteous to the well meaning gardener.

"But sir, you're sick. Mr. Strider ain't there anything you can do? Couldn't you carry Mr. Frodo awhile so he could rest?" Sam asked pleadingly, looking up at the ranger.

"Mr. Frodo is just *fine*, thank you Sam, and would appreciate it if you didn't speak of him as if he wasn't here. I will *not* be carried and you will *not* carry my pack. I am tired of everyone treating me differently than everyone else." The rest of the Fellowship had stopped and turned, watching the indignant hobbit work himself into a fury. "I am tired, yes. I am also very cold and, no, I *don't* feel well. But I am no different that Merry, Pippin or anyone else in this fellowship and should not be singled out as special just because I carry *this*," he pulled the chain out, the ring dangled innocently from the links. His face was flushed from the tantrum but Aragorn noted his lips were a dark blue and his eyes blinked frequently as if to ward off a faint. He was breathing harshly as he coughed another deep wracking cough, clutching his chest as he did. Sam stood, mouth quivering, and tears frozen on his cheeks as he watched his master stagger again and nearly collapse, but righting himself at the last moment. Aragorn had a worried crease across his brow as he reached out to Frodo to steady him. Frodo swatted the hands away, turned and resumed his hike.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam started to chase after his master, but Aragorn held him back.

"Let him go, Sam. We will deal with your master when we reach the cave Legolas spoke of." His eyes followed the stumbling hobbit as Frodo slowly walked away. "Frodo needs to feel like he's won this battle and that is all well and good, but," and he turned to smile at the gardener, "he will be under *my* rule once we reach shelter." Sam smiled back feeling slightly reassured by the ranger's words. They reached the promised alcove about an hour later. Boromir and Legolas surveyed the cave and found it to be more than adequate, having one large room and connected to a smaller room, that was more of a crevice, by a narrow passage. Groans and mumbles of thanks were heard as packs were dropped and hoods shaken of the snow that was now coming down with a vengeance. Frodo stood on a narrow ledge over a sheer drop off, as a fit of coughs claimed him once again. He panted as he looked out over the expanse of mountains in front of him. Pippin and Merry approached him as he wavered on the edge of the precipice.

"Cousin, come inside. The cave is surprisingly warm and dry. Even Bill seems happy to be out of this blizzard which, by the way, is soaking you to the bone, I might add," Merry said cheerfully.

"Frodo, are you all right?" asked Pippin with concern. It was the worst thing he could have asked and the final delicate thread that had held Frodo's temper in check throughout the march, snapped.

Frodo spun towards his cousins. "No, I am *not* all right, Pippin. I am exhausted. I am cold and I am sick and tired of *everyone* asking if I am all right. It is not enough that I have to carry this," he grabbed the ring and pulled for emphasis, "about my neck as it robs me of any rest and slowly drives me mad, but I have to be repeatedly singled out from the rest of the fellowship which, I might add, is also exhausted, cold and hungry. I would appreciate it if you would all stop hovering over me and handling me as if I might break, and just give me some much needed room to breath without scrutiny," he yelled. He clutched his chest as another bout of coughing shook his frame. Merry and Pippin stood with faces registering silent disbelief at the outburst from their normally docile cousin. Aragorn approached and waved the two gaping cousins back towards the cave.

"Master Baggins, I would have a word with you, if it is not, now, too inconvenient," he said tersely.

"It is most inconvenient, Strider. I wish to be left alone, if it is not asking too much," Frodo gasped.

Strider watched as Frodo, entirely too close to the edge of the cliff for his liking, swayed. He was almost indiscernible as a hobbit for all the snow that had swirled and covered his small frame. "I have been most patient with you, my friend, and now it is time for me to look you over and see what can be done to make you well," he said sternly. Sam watched the exchange from the mouth of the cave as he gently broke off the ice balls that had accumulated on Bill's hocks.

"I appreciate your concern, Strider, I truly do, but all I ask is for a rare moment of peace." Frodo's eyes locked imploringly with his gray ones. Tears began to slowly trail down the too hollow cheeks and a pleading look begged for understanding from the ranger. Aragorn felt overwhelming pity for the small being standing before him. "Please Strider. Please allow me just a moment. Just a moment is all I ask and then I will submit myself to your capable hands," he sobbed, hoarsely.

"Very well, Frodo, but only a moment. This blizzard will only exacerbate your health problems and I am loath to have you stand out here in this cold wind, for longer than is necessary," Aragorn acquiesced, although a niggling worry in the back of his mind screamed at him to not allow Frodo even this small concession. He pushed the thought away as Frodo gave him a small, thankful, smile. He walked back to the cave and was immediately approached by an indignant Sam.

"Aren't you goin' to bring him in? He'll catch his death out there!" Sam made to exit the cave to retrieve his master and bring him in from the blizzard. Aragorn reached out with one hand and dragged the hobbit back towards him, almost lifting the gardener off of his feet.

"Frodo has requested a moment alone and I have granted it." Sam began to sputter a reply that Aragorn silenced with an upraised hand. "He tires of our constant worrying over him, even though it is not without merit and is only because we care so dearly for him, and has promised to come into the cave and submit himself to me for treatment," Aragorn explained softly.

Sams eyes misted over as he watched his master from the shelter's entrance. "You'll make him better Strider," it was not a question but a statement put in a firm tone.

"I will do my best, Sam. Now I believe a fire is in order." Gandalf gave him a surprised look, which Aragorn returned with one that brooked no rebuttal. "A fire will be needed, Gandalf, not only to keep the hobbits and the rest of us, from freezing but to make Frodo a hot meal, tea and medicines. I know you fear discovery but it is necessary, I assure you," He said with authority.

"Very well, Aragorn. I tend to agree on this matter. It would do us little favor on our quest if we were to freeze to death in the process, I suppose," the wizard relented with a sigh.

Sam smiled and scurried away telling Merry and Pippin about the prospects of a hot meal. They collected the wood Bill had been kind enough to carry, and flint with newfound energy, and set to building a small blaze. Their hearts were immediately gladdened as they reveled in the heat. Aragorn approached the mouth of the cave deeming that Frodo's 'moment' had expired and prepared himself for the inevitable argument that always ensued when he had to examine and treat, the ringbearer. But as he exited the cave two things happened in quick succession. A bolt of lightening zigzagged across the sky and struck the mountain above the cave. Everyone jumped to their feet in alarm, Gandalf grabbing his staff, and ran to the entrance. Frodo spun around and looked in alarm at the mountain above him as a cascade of boulders made their way towards him. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he turned to run towards the cave entrance. Aragorn began yelling his name, encouraging him to move faster. But the fatigue that had slowly sapped his strength during the climb now worked on his limbs and he found he could scarcely lift his legs due to exhaustion. Aragorn saw his predicament and began to move towards him when he noticed that the ring that lay on the narrow chest had begun to glow and pulse with a brilliant orange light.

Aragorn watched in horror as a second bolt snaked across the sky and connected with the orange circlet causing Frodo's shoulders to arch back. His head snapped back as his eyes went wide in terror and pain, his mouth open in a silent scream. The chain that held the evil token, stood out from his body as if held by an invisible hand. The small body twitched and shook until finally, the bolt released the ring and thus, its hold over Frodo's frame. Frodo collapsed in a heap on the cliff's ledge. Aragorn moved with new found urgency, to exit the cave but was pulled back brusquely as the opening was, unceremoniously, sealed by a fall of boulders, rocks and snow from the mountain above. His last sight of Frodo was of the slumped form of his friend being swept over the ledge to plummet into the chasm below.

 

TBC


	2. The Lady or the Tiger

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

My deepest apologies to Boromir of Gondor for making him out to be such a baddy in this chapter.

Phantasm Chapter Two

The Lady or the Tiger

Legolas had covered Aragorn's body with his own in an attempt to protect his friend and future King of Gondor. He now rose quickly, pulling his companion up with him, as small rocks and rubble continued to rain down, sealing the opening with the snow acting as a mortar. They scrambled at the wall trying to remove the barricade that stood between them and their fallen comrade. They were quickly joined by the rest of the Fellowship as hands, soon caked with mud and frozen beyond feeling, worked feverishly to remove the rocks and refuse.

"All of you, stand back!" boomed Gandalf. Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin while Legolas grabbed Sam and they all moved as one, away from the wall. Gandalf raised his staff and pointing it at the barricade shouted a command. The wall gave way as rocks and debris were flung outward from the opening.

"Thank you, Gandalf," gasped Aragorn.

"And here I was worried that a fire would possibly alert our enemies. I have just sent up what would be comparable to one of my famous fireworks with that little show of force. Let's go find our boy, shall we?" he said with a smirk. As the three hobbits made to exit Aragorn stopped them.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but you will have to stay here," he said as he bent down.

A chorus of objections and threats quickly filled the air as all three began talking at once, '"But, we want to help," "He's our cousin!" "You ain't goin' anywhere without Samwise Gamgee!"' until, at last, Aragorn raised his hands to silence them.

"I do not have the time to argue with you. The longer we berate the issue the longer Frodo lies exposed to the elements," he said brusquely. They all stopped and stared at him. "If you truly wish to help there are things that need to be done here to prepare for our return that are just as important as our searching for Frodo." Nods came from all three.

"Beggin your pardon sir, but this wouldn't be just somethin' to make us *feel* like we was helpin' now, would it? You think just because we're small that we need protectin' and lookin' after like little children and you don't think we have anything to contribute to the fellowhip 'cept to keep Mr. Frodo company an' all, it ain't no secret," he looked at Boromir as he said the last. "We might be small compared to the likes o' you, but we more an make up for our height with our love for Mr. Frodo. All we're askin' is that you give us a chance," Sam said looking down finally at his toes, his face flushing.

Strider smiled down at Sam. "Sam I have *never* thought that you did not have anything to contribute to the Fellowship. Ever. Keeping Frodo fed, warm and his spirits up could well be the most important tasks asked of any of us and I, for one, am glad you three are with us to do these things for Frodo. Let's face it, gentlemen, sometimes those are the hardest jobs on our quest," he gave a wry smile to all three. "But I do need your help in order to see that all is made ready for our return." After receiving nods from all three Aragorn continued," Sam we will need something hot for Frodo to eat, even if we must force him to do so, and perhaps some tea."

"Oh, aye, Mr. Frodo told me earlier how much he missed his hot tea, he did," Sam said sadly.

"Very good. I'm gladdened to hear there is something he craves, if not food," Aragorn said with a smirk. "I will also need hot water for medicinal teas, bathing supplies and bandages made ready." He turned to Merry, "I would like you and Gimli to see if you can't find more firewood from that copse of trees over there," he pointed to a small grove off in the distance. "We will need some larger logs or small saplings to keep the fire going all night. If you can find downed trees, all the better for a nice hot fire," he said as he motioned Gimli over.

"What do you want me to do, Strider?" he turned and looked into the eager green eyes of the youngest member of the Fellowship.

"Pippin, I need blankets to be warmed by the fire and then I would like you to help Sam get meals ready for all of us." Pippin nodded and he and Sam hurried off. Merry and Gimli began their trek towards the copse of trees; Gimli's axe glinting in the weakening sunlight.

"That was wise giving them all something to do while we retrieve the Ring, and Frodo's body, of course," said Boromir off handedly.

Aragorn swung around to face the Gondorian. "Let's make one thing perfectly clear, Boromir. I did not give them these jobs to keep them occupied and out of the way. I gave them because they will need to be done to ensure Frodo's survival. Another thing, I am not going to search for Frodo solely to retrieve the Ring, although, yes, that must be done. I am going to find Frodo because he is my friend first and ringbearer second, and for you to insinuate that there is no hope and that he is already beyond our skills to heal, is to show your own ignorance as to what a hardy and resourceful people hobbits are," he said hotly. "I think it would be best for you to assist Gimli and Merry and leave Frodo's rescue to Legolas and myself," he added as he turned and stalked away.

"You do not dictate to me what my assigned tasks shall be, false King," sneered Boromir.

"No, but I do, my dear Gondorian," came a gruff voice from behind him. He turned and with a snort of disgust, began heading in the direction Gimli and Merry had taken moments before. Gandalf approached Aragorn who stood next to Legolas as he surveyed the area below them.

"Thank you Gandalf," said Aragorn without looking away from the abyss.

"Boromir could be a vital ally or powerful foe, Aragorn. You should try to bridge this gap between each other soon, before it becomes more than petty insults," Gandalf said.

"I have no time to assuage his feelings, Gandalf. There are more important things at work here than Boromir's selfish pride," Aragorn said with a frown.

"There!" Legolas pointed to a tiny speck amongst the rubble and snow at the base of the cliff. It appeared to be just another rock to Gandalf but Aragorn had long since learned to trust the elf's keen eyesight.

"I fear for him, to have fallen so far, it would be a miracle to have survived," Gandalf said, his voice husky with emotion.

"Gandalf you, of all people, should know by now how miracles seem to follow Frodo wherever he goes. We will bring him back. Be sure all is made ready for our return," Aragorn said, although he too felt sudden trepidation as he looked at the long drop before him. As he and Legolas, searched for a way down the slope below them, Gandalf watched from above hoping this was not to be Frodo's burial site as well. He turned and walked back into the cave to see if he could offer his assistance to Sam.

************************************************************************

He was so cold and his whole body throbbed in agony. He had been going down the stairs in Bag End when his foot had slipped on the icy steps of the cold room. He had tumbled to the bottom of the steps and now he looked about him at the hooks of meat hanging from the ceiling. He climbed slowly to his feet and gasped as a fiery pain lanced through his hip. His arm also throbbed painfully and he guessed that it was probably broken. He reached the door and began banging on it with his left hand. "Bilbo. Bilbo, help me. I'm hurt and I've locked myself in the cold room. Let me out please," he cried.

"No Frodo, not until you've learned your lesson, my boy," came the reply.

"What lesson Uncle" Please, please help me," Frodo sobbed as he crumpled to the floor of the room. It was most uncharacteristic of his Uncle to deny Frodo anything let alone be so casual when he was injured. He frowned as he slowly looked about him taking in his surroundings. He had always hated this room; the dankness and smells gave him a claustrophobic feeling of dread that something was waiting for him in the airless dungeon. "Bilbo?" he cried again, but received no answer to his cries. He rose and hobbled across the floor, his uninjured arm stretched before him, trying to feel his way around in the inky blackness. A dim light shown off to his right and he made for it. 'That's odd,' he thought, 'I don't remember there being a corridor there.' He followed the corridor, which gradually gave way to a fragrant green meadow. All around him were trees with long vines wound about their trunks and birds perched upon their branches. Flowers began to show up along the pathway and always there was the light that got steadily brighter as he proceeded. He entered a large room filled with plants and the soothing sound of water flowing. At its center was a high throne of sorts and upon this sat the most beautiful woman Frodo had ever seen. She smiled sweetly down at him and bade him come closer. He walked slowly towards her as his eyes swept about the area. He looked upon her and she was even lovelier that at first glance. Her hair was of the lightest yellow he had ever seen and it flowed to below her small waistline. She had eyes of grayest blue and skin that was completely flawless. She wore a gown that shimmered in different hues as she moved about and in her delicate long boned hands she held a staff of perfect white. He gazed at her in total amazement and was all to suddenly aware of his awkward appearance amidst her radiant visage. She graced him with a luminous smile as she looked down at him.

"Welcome, small traveler," she said in a soft, alluring voice.

"Where am I? And. And who are you, if I may ask, madam?" He stammered shyly.

She chuckled softly at his discomfiture. "I am a friend, Frodo Baggins," she said with a smile.

"How do you know my name, My Lady?" he asked with suspicion.

"I have my ways, young one. I have been watching you for quite some time now and know of you and your kind and, of course, of your burden," she said. She flicked her finger towards his neck and the Ring revealed Itself. For an instant the beautiful long boned finger with the perfectly sculpted nail resembled a gnarled, age spotted hand grasping towards him. He gasped, but when he looked again all he saw was the porcelain digit he'd seen before. She smiled oddly at him.

"How do you know of the Ring?" he asked tremulously as he tucked It, once again, within his shirt.

"All who desire to see Middle Earth receive its glory know of It, Ringbearer," the last word was said flatly and without feeling. She smiled demurely at him. "I have been chosen to guide you and help you achieve your goal," she added by way of explanation.

"Chosen by whom? Elrond has already chosen eight companions to accompany me into Mordor," Frodo asked, confused.

"I was not privy to Elrond Halfelven's counsel, I'm afraid. My selection was made by one far greater than elves, men or other peoples of this world," she said with, what Frodo at first thought...what, a note of bitterness? Had he detected derision of Elrond in her voice? She dazzled him with yet another brilliant smile. "But we all chose to work towards a common goal," she added, somewhat shyly. "As to where you are, my dear hobbit, your body is lying on a cliff side at the base of Carhadras and is struggling mightily to sustain your life, even now. You've been gravely injured, I'm afraid. Your mind has drifted to a childhood incident where you accidentally locked yourself in your Uncle's cold room. Your subconscious mind has augmented this memory, as is what usually happens when one is ill or injured. Not a very pleasant memory for you, from what I've seen so far. I do not actually stand physically before you, but needed to communicate a warning...a message, if you will, and so have entered your subconscious mind to do so," she explained in soft, concerned tones. "Would you like something? Some food or drink perhaps?" she offered.

"Your pardon, my lady, but if this is not real why would you offer me sustenance?" Frodo queried.

She covered her mouth and giggled girlishly. "Even in a dream we should always be comfortable, don't you think?" she replied with a gentle smile.

"Then I should like some hot tea, if it would not be too much trouble," Frodo said with a smile.

"Of course it's no trouble. Astrid?" she called. A dark, mousy woman appeared.

"Yes Mistress?" she mumbled.

"Some tea please for Mr. Baggins and myself," she said.

"Yes Mum," the creature named Astrid replied and left leaving Frodo with a feeling of disquiet. She returned shortly and placed a tea set upon a low table that had not been there moments before. If the mysterious lady was beautiful and delicate then Astrid was all things that the lady was not. She was dark and plodding, looking at Frodo with beady eyes full of malice and contempt.

"Would you sit?" the beautiful lady asked. Frodo's eyes followed Astrid as she departed and he was about to ask the mistress where she would have him sit but when he turned back around there was a comfortable hobbit sized chair placed across from the mysterious woman.

"Yes, thank you. May I ask your name, my lady?"

"Of course. Hmm...You may call me Lorelei," she said after much deliberation.

"You hesitated, Mistress Lorelei, do you not even know your own name?" Frodo asked with a smile.

"Oh, I am known by many names but this one seems to fit our meeting best so it is what you shall call me," she grinned, her eyes took on a momentary slyness but then, that too, was gone so quickly Frodo could not be sure he had really seen it. He went to pour the tea but pulled back sharply as he stretched out his stricken right arm. "Oh, you are hurt, poor thing," Lorelei said as she poured the tea for both of them. "Here," she said, placing the cup in his left hand. "It's badly broken, you know," she said conspiratorially, indicating his right arm. "From that long fall off the ledge," she added. Frodo felt suddenly uneasy being with someone who, even though beautiful, knew so much more about him than he did her.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, I know. I think I've also hurt my leg," he murmured.

"Oh you have, see?" He looked down and gasped at the sight of the left leg that hung boneless from his hip. He tasted bile and looked away quickly taking a gulp of the hot tea. "Dislocated," she said coolly. "You also have a very nasty concussion, but you won't notice that at all if they don't find you soon," she added with a dismissive wave of her delicate hand. Frodo began to believe that he was having one of the worst nightmares he had possibly ever had, or perhaps he had finally gone insane, as he'd feared. He didn't want to look at his injuries any more than he wanted to sit here talking with this strange woman. He felt very small and ill at ease and rose to depart. "Oh, you can't leave yet. You must hear my warning first," Lorelei said with a charming little pout.

"Oh, how rude of me. I apologize, I was just feeling a little ill," Frodo explained.

"Oh it is I that should apologize to you. It was a very un-hostess like of me to be showing you your leg like that," she patted his knee and smiled again. Her eyes now looked almost brown and Frodo noticed, for the first time, a small black bead that hung from a fine chain about her delicate neck. As he gazed at the charm it seemed to glow from within and he stared, transfixed, at this unusual jewel. Her gown was now a light shade of pink he noted as he pulled his eyes from the necklace. He looked up quickly and caught Lorelei staring at his throat with what could only be described as, lust. She quickly looked away and said, "You have snow all over you, I just realized. I should have offered you a fire to dry your things and warm your body by," she murmured, distractedly.

He felt ridiculous. Of course, she had only been noticing the snow on his cloak. She was much too pure and beautiful to be bothered with such human failings as lust or envy. And what, Frodo thought, could he possibly have for her to lust over? Himself? He almost snorted out loud at the very thought. About the only thing Frodo had was, well, the Ring. He darted a quick look in her direction. Lorelei was humming in a soft, sweet, somehow, hypnotic voice. She held in her right hand a golden brush and was combing it slowly through her long tresses. He shook himself slightly trying to free himself from the sleepy, dreamlike feeling that was beginning to wash over him.

"Mistress Lorelei, if you aren't an elf or mortal, what are you?" he asked quietly, trying to rouse himself.

"Oh, you don't need to know that just yet, master hobbit, we'll have another chance to talk and learn about each other, you can count on that," she evaded. "Frodo, may I call you Frodo?" she asked shyly. Frodo nodded and sipped from his teacup which he suddenly realized, never needed refilling. He wished, with a sudden pang, that he had one of these in his backpack. Lorelei set her cup down slowly, "There are forces at work here, Frodo, that are beyond your control. What I am about to say will sound harsh but you must heed my words or all will be for naught." Frodo set his cup down as his stomach began to churn in dread. "You cannot trust any of your Fellowship." Frodo's eyes grew very wide as he opened his mouth to reply. "No. Hear me, my hobbit friend. They want the Ring, all of them. It has already turned them to do It's bidding and you are in grave danger.

"But Merry, Pippin and Sam...I can trust them. They're my kin and Sam, he's my best friend," Frodo exclaimed.

"Ah, but that was before the Ring had had Its chance to weave Its spell over them. They cannot be trusted Frodo. They are not the friends and family that they were before. They will say or do whatever they think you would want them to in order to get It from you. Sam prepares your meals, correct?"

"Yes," Frodo gulped.

"Do not eat the food or drink the water they give you, it will be poisonous," she said grimly.

"I cannot believe this. I've had no cause to doubt them before. Boromir perhaps. But Legolas or Aragorn, Gimli or Gandalf? You must be mistaken. These are my friends...my family and companions. It cannot be true," Frodo exclaimed in agitation.

"It is, I am sorry. The wizard is the worst of your Fellowship. He has besmirched the name of Saruman making all of you believe that Saruman had turned to evil so that he could usurp the title of the White Wizard for himself. He has seduced the elves, men and dwarves telling them all of his torture at Saruman's hands, when in fact, he has tortured and denigrated Saruman himself. Saruman is being held captive by Gandalf's orcs in Orthanc at this very moment," she said sadly.

Frodo's mouth hung open in disbelief. He would have laughed hysterically at the ludicrous image Lorelei was painting if the beautiful maiden before him did not look so genuinely aggrieved. "No. I have known Gandalf all of my life and I cannot believe him to be so utterly malicious. If he says Saruman is mad and evil then it must be true," he whispered.

Lorelei's eyes flashed but Frodo had turned away, pacing slowly. His leg, he noticed, at least *looked* normal now even if it still pulsed with a dull throb. Lorelei sneered at Frodo's back, but composed her features, dabbing at her eyes softly with a small handkerchief, as he turned back towards her.

"It is true. I am so sorry to say," she wept. Frodo looked at her in alarm.

"But what am I to do if this is so? Who am I to trust?" he cried.

"You must trust yourself and those of us who have been dealing with the inhabitants of Middle Earth all of our long existences," she sighed heavily, looking overburdened.

"I will have to think about this, Mistress Lorelei, it is simply too much for me to comprehend at this moment," Frodo said wearily.

"I understand, Master Hobbit, but be wary. You cannot blindly trust them, you cannot," she struck the staff's end on the floor to emphasize her point. "Do not tell them of me or our meeting. The wizard you call Gandalf, and I, were once great friends until his thoughts turned black. You would be in grave danger were he to know of my involvement in this matter," she added.

Frodo smiled, picturing their reaction, "No one would believe me anyway," he said slowly.

"No doubt," she murmured with a slight smile. "Then go, but return as you will, and be careful." She rose and kissed his forehead lightly. Her lips left an unpleasant clammy feeling on Frodo's skin.

"Yes, thank you Mistress, for the tea," Frodo said distractedly as he slowly began moving back towards the pathway leading away from the room. He absently rubbed his forehead with his left hand and turned to look back at Lorelei, but the room, its occupant and the light were gone. He found himself hobbling along the corridor in total blackness. With each step unease filled Frodo until his heart was racing. A rustling sound and strange whispers began to come from all around him and he began to try to walk faster as panic over took him. His leg now ached with a fierceness it had not had even moments before and something brushed past his face as he tried to hurry back towards Bilbo's cold room. He felt himself being grabbed at by something cold and slippery (the vines, perhaps? he thought) as he tried to evade their grasping. His right arm throbbed and he pulled it to his chest and the cold was like a knife slicing through his body. The things grabbed him, grabbed his arm and as he tried to pull away, one held tight and pulled at his shoulder as another pulled at his wrist, causing Frodo to feel such agony that his stomach churned in sudden nausea. His leg, his leg was being held and now a sudden jerk pulled the appendage taut causing his breath to leave his body and Frodo felt sure the limb had been severed from his body. A deep, guttural scream left his lungs as an exquisite bolt surged through his injured hip. He felt his sanity begin to break, as he lay slumped on the floor, the cold and pain his only companions. As the darkness engulfed and pulled him to its black heart he heard the rustling and whisperings of things he could not see, as they closed in, suffocating and robbing him of his last conscious thought.

 

to be continued...


	3. Friends Found

Phantasm by lovethosehobbits  
Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

I apologize for it taking me so long to update. RL has been frantic and I find that my chapters seem to be getting longer and longer. So, I think in order to update sooner I'll have to either cut the chapters down a bit or just stay with the longer intervals between updates. I will do my best to update sooner, but be warned, I am in a real pile of do-do with my other activities so please, please be patient with me....and thanks as always, for being such devoted readers.

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

Phantasm Chapter Three

Friends Found

He and Legolas had marched in the freezing blizzard for what felt like hours. At first they had tried to carry on a clipped conversation but the wind had swept the words from them too often to be heard by the other party. After that conversing had become almost impossible at any rate, what with the combination of the constant slipping and falling, mostly on Aragorn's part, and the weight of exhaustion and worry that wore them down to the point of marching more out of rote than anything else.

Aragorn remembered as a young child living amongst the tall and graceful elves, reveling in the beauty of snow. The days had been an endless melee of running, throwing snowballs at unsuspecting elves, fort building and warming frozen hands, only to run back outside and recommence freezing them once again. The elves had had no young elflings, not younger than 1000 years at any rate, and they delighted in watching the antics of the inexhaustible boy as he frolicked in the fluff. Some had even become compatriots; engaging in snowball fights or the building of intricate forts while Elrond had stood, out of sight, grinning at the sight of the elaborately robed high elders crawling about with the child on all fours or suddenly pelting the unwary from a carefully contrived ambush.

"Ummph," Aragorn said losing his footing again and falling hard as they traversed a particularly steep slope. He cringed inwardly knowing that Legolas would, once again, have to assist pulling him to his feet. The snow was so powdery he simply could not right himself alone, and he was growing increasingly weary of the sure-footed elf always looking down at him at that awkward angle while offering him a hand up.

As if on cue, Legolas approached and extended his hand. "Are you all right, Estel?" he asked for the 100th time.

And Aragorn answered, for the 100th time back, "Yes, thank you my friend." Then they would resume their descent. At one point Aragorn had fallen, but instead of trying to get up he had leaned back and allowed the slope to carry him down the mountain side. It had been quite exhilarating. When Legolas had arrived at his side, after he had thumped into a snow bank and come to an abrupt halt, the snow covered ranger had only grinned stupidly up at the worried expression on his out of breath companion's face. He had been severely reprimanded for his reckless behavior by the elf but had only chuckled to himself. Yes, it had been dangerous. He could just have easily gone over a cliff, but he had enjoyed the all to rare sensation of child like delight that had flowed through him. But that had been many hours before and with each sinking step in the new flakes, Aragorn felt more and more desperate to reach Frodo, hoping, by some miracle, that he was still alive.

"How much further do you think, Legolas?" he gasped.

"We are close. Perhaps the next valley," replied the elf. The drop in temperature had become more and more pronounced as true night crept over each foothill, slipping towards them until, at last, they too had been plunged into a gray twilight. The terrain was only visible to them now because of the glittering snow, seemingly lit from within, that covered all. Aragorn felt a sudden chill and once again, worried about his friend. If he was feeling the cold with his constant movement, how much more so would the effect be on an injured and immobile hobbit? He strove to increase his pace and Legolas, as if reading his friend's thoughts, did the same. At last they approached the area where Legolas had said he had seen the crumpled ringbearer's body so many hours before. They paused and surveyed the mass of tumbled rocks, uprooted trees and swells of powder that had accumulated from the avalanche. Aragorn sighed and rubbed at his face wearily. How could anyone or anything have survived the sheer destructiveness of the mountain, he thought, feeling deflated as he looked about. He felt a light hand on his shoulder and turned to see the smiling features of his longtime friend.

"Worry not, my friend, I believe Frodo yet lives. He would be over that way from where we saw him above," he said softly, pointing. They recommensed traversing the flat until they reached a rather large jumble of boulders. Heavy snowfall covered all so that the tumble more resembled a family of trolls clustered together than anything else. Carefully they picked their way around each boulder looking for any sign of their lost friend. Aragorn had been about to ask Legolas if he was certain this was the right spot when the elf had called out to him. "Estel. Here!"

Aragorn ran towards the elf who was bent low to the ground pushing the accumulated snow away from a strip of material that lay peeking from below. It was Frodo's cloak. Together they dug through the down until they came to a small declivity that, by some miracle they did not understand, the hobbit lay cocooned in. Together they marveled that the ringbearer's body had shifted as the snow had settled, creating the small hollow, or cave, and trapping air in with him. Aragorn smiled up at Legolas. They reached in as one, and slowly lifted the inert form of their friend to the surface. Legolas stripped off his cloak laying it between them, and they wrapped Frodo within its folds. Aragorn pressed two fingers to Frodo's neck, closing his eyes as he tried to feel a heartbeat. With a huge sigh his eyes popped open suddenly as he looked again at Legolas. "He lives! By the Valar, he lives!" he cried. "I need to examine him further before we move him. He could have any number of injuries including a broken back, afterwards we can try to get some warmth back into him. I wish I had a bit of light. It will be difficult to see how badly he is truly injured without it," he said to himself. He looked around at his surroundings. When he turned back around he saw that Legolas was digging through a fairly large pack that he had been carrying.

Legolas grinned. "I have these," he said, producing two long sticks the ends of which were tightly bound in torn rags. "And this," again he produced a small wad of rendered fat. "Samwise thought we might be needing some torches and graciously gave up his cooking grease to help create them," he said with a smile.

Aragorn grinned widely. "Remind me to thank our gardener when we return. He may have just saved Frodo's life by this simple gesture." He took the tokens and rubbed the fat over the cloth. Using his flint he soon had two blazing brands. A soft glow now covered the ringbearer and Aragorn gasped as he beheld the extent of Frodo's injuries. "Oh, my small friend," he whispered softly. "Legolas, I do not know if we should make camp here or rejoin the others. I believe, if we could make it back to the cave, that that would increase Frodo's chances of survival." He looked up at Legolas.

"Although I have no knowledge of the healing arts, I must agree. While we could possibly survive the night in the open, I do not believe Frodo would. We should make every effort to rejoin our friends once you have seen to his injuries," Legolas commented.

Aragorn nodded in agreement. He turned back to Frodo and slowly began feeling down Frodo's frame, checking for breaks. Gently he worked his fingers around the back of Frodo's neck and on down his back and was satisfied that there were no breaks that he could feel. Next he began checking the small arms. He winced as he took in the site of the right arm. "This is a very bad break. We will need to splint it before moving him from this spot. He proceeded to Frodo's ribcage and discovered two fractured ribs. Finally, he felt along the hobbit's hips and stopped, taking in a sudden breath. "A bad dislocation here," he murmured. He felt along each leg and foot and, at last, rocked back on his heels. "Amazing. I am truly amazed at how few injuries he sustained. He could still have internal bleeding, but on first examination he looks remarkably fit for such a tremendous fall." He looked up at the cliff above them. "He was unconscious when he fell which is, perhaps, why he has so few breaks," he murmured to himself. Legolas gave him a confused look.

He smiled as he began to elaborate. "When someone is conscious and falls, instinctively they will tense their muscles in anticipation of the landing. Their body becomes rigid. This can cause bones to break and muscles to tear. But when one is unconscious and falls they are like a child's rag doll; they are loose, their muscles relaxed. When this happens, they land a bit softer than if they were rigid like they would normally be when awake. In addition it seems that Frodo fell off the precipice along with all of the boulders and rubble but also with all of the new fallen snow, luckily landing in the softer snow than on the boulders. I do not know how he managed to avoid landing amidst the boulders. If he had he would, most assuredly, be beyond our help. But see how there is this deep hollow here where he landed?" He pointed to where they had only recently extricated their friend. "He landed in the softer snow, his body pushed into the mass, and then was covered with the rest of the fluff. There was some shifting, it appears, or he would not have had this hollow that gave him air to breath. Eru must have watched him this night. No boulders landed on him, only around him. Even still he has some very serious injuries. His right arm is badly broken, he has at least two fractured ribs, his left leg is out of its hip joint and he has a major concussion. The concussion and arm are my greatest worries at present." He looked up at Legolas and gave him a weak grin and Legolas's eyes registered understanding of the explanation and then the worry.

"What can I do to help you, Estel?" he asked solemnly.

"First we will need to pull the dislocated leg back into the hip joint and then, somehow, find something to splint the arm with," he said, looking about him, trying to locate any small pieces of wood he could use as a splint. When he turned back to Frodo he noticed that Legolas had removed his armguards. "Legolas, I take back all of the nasty thoughts I ever had about you and your fleet footedness," Aragorn exclaimed with a grin.

"I can hardly be blamed if men are clumsy and plodding," Legolas responded with a smirk. Aragorn grinned and took the proffered guards.

"Yes, they are almost the exact length of his arm and are stiff enough to provide adequate support. These should work well," Aragorn murmured. "I will need you to hold Frodo's upper body rather firmly as I maneuver the leg back into place. It will be quite painful. I can only hope he is beyond feeling," he said as he gently uncovered the left leg and moved Frodo so that he was leaning more to his right. Legolas moved to cradle the hobbit's upper body within his own as Aragorn placed one hand on the hobbit's hip and pulled with a jerk on the left thigh. Frodo struggled weakly against them, crying out like a wounded animal as the sudden pain assailed him. But his limbs were too frozen to move and he was unable to fight off the demons that now attacked him. Legolas hummed softly to him as he finger combed the frozen ringlets. Frodo cried out saying "No, no, don't..." as Aragorn pulled yet again, this time at a slightly different angle. At last the leg went home and the ranger quickly bound a length of cloth around the hip to hold it in place and add additional support to the weakened joint.

"I am so sorry my small friend, for having to hurt you further," he whispered to the hobbit. He surreptuously swiped at his eyes as he turned his face away for a moment.

Legolas gazed at his friend in empathy. "Estel, Frodo knows you would never intentionally bring harm to him," he said.

"I know, but I feel brutish having to force my strength upon an already battered and frail body," he said gruffly.

"Frodo's body may be frail but there is nothing weak about this person," Legolas smiled down at the patient.

Aragorn smiled back. "Yes, he is one of the most strong willed, stubborn people I have ever met. His force of will is that of ten full-grown men. If he were but a few feet taller I believe he would be quite beyond all of the Fellowship's combined control," he said with a laugh.

"Indeed," the elf looked down at Frodo and gently pulled the cloak closer about his frame.

Aragorn released a great shuddering breath as he prepared himself to deal with the arm. He folded back the cloak and removed the bloodied sleeve of Frodo's shirt to examine the break. The bone jutted jaggedly out of the pale forearm and Aragorn winced at how much blood had puddled beneath it.

"Legolas, I will need you to reach under Frodo's shoulder and grasp his elbow. I will pull from the wrist and together, hopefully, we can bring the bones back together." Legolas nodded and swallowed thickly as he looked down at the break. He wished, more than anything, at that moment, that he had had some of Elrond's significant healing powers. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Valar for the strength of will to help his friend. When he felt at peace once again, he opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn. Aragorn gave him an understanding smile and a nod, indicating he was ready. The arm lay twisted upon the elven cloak as Aragorn slowly pulled the wrist towards him. Frodo's brow furrowed and a weak whimper escaped his lips. Aragorn frowned at the lack of reaction to what, must have been, excruciating pain. He worried that Frodo might be losing his battle with the cold and refocused all of his energy on quickly setting the bone so that they could begin the long hike back. He desperately hoped that hot tea and a bright fire would greet them or he feared Frodo would perish. All of these thoughts came in a flash as he watched Frodo's face for any signs of distress. Frodo began to writhe, trying to escape the darkness that held him and the malevolent beings that came with it. He began to sob softly as he struggled, willing his frozen limbs to move and, thus, escape the onslaught. Aragorn glanced up at Legolas. The elf's face was a picture of stoicism; no emotion was evident there. But Aragorn had known the elf most of his life and could see the great distress that Legolas was experiencing within the calm, gray eyes. At last the bone slipped beneath the skin and long strips of gauze were wrapped around it until Aragorn was satisfied that the bleeding was under control. The arm guards were then fastened firmly around it, holding the bones securely in place.

Aragorn quickly re-clothed the limb and lay it across Frodo's chest. He gathered his remaining bandages and tightly bound the small chest to keep the ribs in place. The arm was then secured against the chest so that it was also immobilized. The ranger wrapped Frodo's body within the elven cloak and moved to his head. There were multiple bumps and cuts, but one large lump on the back of Frodo's skull, in particular, caught his attention. "We will have to wait and see about this," he said to himself. Frodo still sobbed quietly as Legolas wiped the tears from the ringbearer's face.

Legolas looked down at his friend. "Frodo. Frodo, can you hear me, my friend?" he asked softly. The cries silenced but there was no other indication that the ringbearer was aware of his surroundings or those who sought to give him aid.

"We should have brought another..." Aragorn began as he watched the elf pull from his pack a heavy hobbit sized cloak. Legolas smiled playfully up at the ranger.

"Sam's?" Aragorn asked.

"Sam's. He gave it to me just as we were leaving. He wanted to make sure Frodo was wrapped tightly within it's folds before we brought him back," replied the elf.

"But, what if we had not been able to save Frodo?"

"He refused to believe that Frodo would be beyond our aid. But I did ask him of that very thing. He said, 'I still wants my Mr. Frodo wrapped up tight and cozy like, no matter what'," Legolas smiled at the memory of the hopeful expression on the gardener's tear streaked face. "I promised that I would see it done. I am most relieved that this will be wrapped around a living, breathing hobbit than the alternative," he added.

"As am I. What else have you within that pack of yours?" Aragorn asked prodding the pack with his foot.

Legolas grinned. "I have this," he pulled out one of Frodo's blankets from his bedroll. Aragorn's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise.

"You are most prepared this day, it would seem. I am grateful, as I was so intent on getting down the slope to retrieve Frodo I left completely unprepared save for my healer's pouch." Aragorn smiled at his friend in gratitude.

"Alas, I would enjoy taking credit for all of these mysterious packages, but I cannot. Master Gamgee insisted on pressing these articles upon me. I almost refused him, thinking I would be unable to negotiate the parcels but then he packed them quite efficiently within my pack and I could not refuse. I think I would have been unable to refuse him at any cost, as his worry and concern were so evident for his master."

"Sam, nay, all of the hobbits seem to have a way of getting whatever they wish from us 'Big Folk'. Their eyes show their emotions so truly and they are so pure of heart, it is simply too hard to turn away, I have found," Aragorn murmured. He gently pulled Legolas's cloak tighter about the hobbit at their feet. "We should wrap him first in Sam's cloak and then again in the blanket. I will return your cloak to you and carry Frodo next to my chest under my own cloak. I brought some leather straps from Bill's tack to lash Frodo's body to mine, so that I could still use my hands. I will still need to hold him it seems, as his injuries prevent me from doing other than carrying him under his back and legs."

Legolas nodded slowly as he considered any adjustments he might be able to make to make the carrying of their patient easier. "I will fashion a sling of sorts for you to wear so that Frodo can lie against you without further injury to his wounds. In this way you will have some limited use of your hands for balance. He quickly fashioned the straps to wrap about Frodo's upper body and above his knees. After they removed Frodo from Legolas's cloak and wrapped him in Sam's thick wool one and then again in the wool blanket, Aragorn removed his cloak. The wind whipped and tore at him blowing ice crystals into his eyes and nose, causing him to tear and his body to tremble with each blast. Frodo was lashed across the ranger's chest with only his face visible amidst the swathing below Aragorn's right shoulder, his body lay across the ranger's to rest on the left hip. Legolas pulled the cloak over the trembling ranger and hobbit, fastening the ties in front. Aragorn flexed his hands and arms showing that, if he had to, he could use them without dropping Frodo. He preferred to hold Frodo against him so that, perhaps, his body might impart some small amount of heat into the quaking form. Lastly, he checked the chain around Frodo's neck to be sure the ring was still there. Giving one last look around, they left the area.

They climbed slowly upwards, zigzagging across the mountain to try and make the journey less perilous and smoother for the injured ringbearer. Even still Frodo cried out frequently and Aragorn could be heard faintly whispering his apologies or soothing words to his friend.

"Can you not give him something for the pain?" Legolas asked after one particularly nasty stumble in which Aragorn would have fallen if not for the elf's steadying hand. Frodo had screamed in agony and now struggled against the man's breast trying to escape this new captivity. Aragorn softly stroked Frodo's back and crooned into the blankets trying to calm his friend.

"I cannot. He has a severe concussion. If I give him a sedative we might not be able to wake him later." He looked up at Legolas as a sudden idea came to mind, causing his eyes to alight with hope. "Legolas would you get me a single leaf of athelas from my healers pouch?" Legolas nodded and began rummaging through the pouch, which he now carried for the healer. He found the athelas and extracted the leaf and gave it to Aragorn. Aragorn placed the leaf in his mouth to wet it, then opened Frodo's small mouth, placing the leaf under his tongue. After a few moments, Frodo's struggles ceased and his cries calmed. "I do not know how long the effects of the athelas will last. The leaves have a mild narcotic effect. Perhaps it will be enough to carry us back to our friends." Legolas re-stowed the pouch and they began to climb once again. The zigzag course, while smoother for Frodo's sake, added hours they were not certain they had, onto their journey. After many hours the exhausted duo began to smell wood smoke and the enticing scent of simmering stew, and their hopes soared at the possibility that they were close to camp. Legolas stood below the cliff they had clambered down earlier, brow furrowed in worry. Aragorn knew what concerned the elf. It had been one thing to climb down the escarpment unburdened and in daylight, but how to climb up carrying a badly injured comrade in darkest night? This problem had teased at Aragorn's brain for the last hour or so as he sought an answer before having to face the dilemma. As usual, the answer came unlooked for.

"Halloo," came a call from the precipice above them. The cherubic face of Meriadoc peered down at them. Gandalf and two other heads peeked over the edge, with Merry on one side of the wizard and Pippin on the other.

"We have been making preparations for your return, my frozen friends," the wizard's voice floated down to them.

"We are relieved to see you, Mithrandir, and hope you have a solution to our quandary," Legolas called back.

"We do indeed...stop that, oh, all right then..." came a muffled exchange. Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other in confusion. "I have three very distraught hobbits who wish to know how their cousin and friend is doing," Gandalf called in a slightly irritated voice. Both the ranger and elf could detect the silent question behind the wizard's words. Did Frodo survive the fall? But there was also hope unspoken for in the inquiry.

"He lives. He has injuries that need my attentions and he is suffering from the cold, but...he lives," Aragorn said, trying to give his voice the inflection it needed to calm the rest of the party.

"Wonderful, we now have a very relieved gathering anxiously awaiting your return, Aragorn. We have a bit of a surprise for you. You'll find we have not been idle while you were recovering our dear boy, no indeed." A chuckle carried on the wind down to the two rescuers. Once again Legolas and Aragorn exchanged quizzical looks with one another.

From Aragorn's left he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. He shifted quickly to his right causing a scream of pain to erupt from Frodo. He placed the palm of his left hand on Frodo's trembling back, trying to impart some measure of comfort to his stricken friend, as he pulled his sword, preparing for battle, with his right. Legolas too, had adopted a fighter's stance and now held one of his curved elven blades in his right hand, while in his left, he lifted the torches aloft.

"My apologies, my friends, for approaching without some warning. Most of all, I apologize for causing further pain to Frodo. I hope my blundering upon you has not inflicted further injury," came the heavy baritone. Boromir materialized within the glow of the torchlight, his face contrite. He moved forward and bowed his head to Aragorn. "I wanted to contribute something to aid in Frodo's rescue after my hasty and unfeeling remarks earlier. Is he well?" he asked in concern.

"He lives. He has many serious injuries that we will see to once back at camp," Aragorn replied cautiously. He lowered his sword, as did Legolas, and quickly checked Frodo to make sure that no further harm was done. Despite the cold Frodo's forehead was beaded in sweat.

"I am deeply ashamed of my conduct and offer my services, however you may see to use them and for as long as they be needed," Boromir said humbly.

Aragorn's mouth opened in astonishment that quickly turned to a look of friendly impasse. He could only imagine how difficult it had been for Boromir, a strong and proud man, to say such words of humble contrition. While he had been angry with Boromir for being more concerned about the ring than for Frodo's well being, he too, had spoken hastily, reacting as Frodo's champion and protector in the ringbearer's absence. "Boromir, I too, would like to ask forgiveness for my actions earlier. I was feeling much stress concerning Frodo after he had fallen, but that was no reason to start barking orders like some er..." he hesitated.

"King?" Offered Boromir with a smile.

Aragorn returned the smile. "Those would not have been my words, but yours, my friend," he said with a laugh.

"Friend. Perhaps we could agree on that word. I would like to try harder to work together if that is agreeable to you," Boromir looked nervously at Aragorn.

"I would like that very much, Boromir," Aragorn replied with a clap on the Gondorian's shoulder. Legolas smiled and looked up at the cliff's ledge where five other faces smiled down, witnessing the exchange. Gandalf gave him a nod as if to say 'perhaps there is still hope for the race of man.'

Boromir looked up at the cliff top and called out "Gandalf, would you please lower down the 'surprise' for our weary travelers?" He smiled at the questioning looks he received from both Aragorn and Legolas.

They could hear Sam's soft voice speaking encouragingly to someone and then, over the edge of the precipice, emerged what appeared to be a netted travois. It descended slowly until at last Boromir reached up and guided it down to rest at their feet. Legolas bent down and lit the area with torchlight revealing a small basket made of wood and lined with blankets. Aragorn slowly knelt, mindful not to cause any more pain to Frodo, and examined it admiringly.

"How did you do this? We have been gone a mere span of hours and you have created this wondrous thing," he asked in awe as he examined first the basket, then the 'ropes' that held it. He looked up in amazement at the Gondorian.

Boromir smiled tentatively down at Aragorn. "Everyone seemed to have a task to focus on excepting myself. After Gimli, Merry and I returned to the cave with the downed saplings, I noticed that the green wood had an interesting pliancy to the bark. Gimli was good enough to strip the bark for me and cut the remainder into firewood. At first, I simply needed something to occupy my mind and my hands, but soon I found I had woven what you see before you. Since the wood was green it was remarkably flexible and soft. Gandalf approached me as I worked and watched to see what I was making. I think it impressed him that I had other skills than those of a soldier. He and I also had many hours to talk. He is very wise, but I'm sure you already know that," Boromir said huskily. Aragorn nodded as he continued to stare up at the man before him, suddenly realizing how little he knew about him. He made a mental note to himself to rectify that situation once Frodo's injuries had been seen to.

"But the ropes how...?" Legolas began.

Boromir smiled. "Pippin, ever curious as he is, came over to see what I was doing and wanted me to show him how to weave. Merry soon joined us, so I taught them both. Gandalf stood for a space of time, watching and smoking, lost in thought. He asked many questions concerning the resiliency and strength of the rope and if it could possible support, say, the weight of a hobbit. We discussed the idea of constructing a rope to attach to the basket and then, if needed, we could lower it down, retrieve Frodo, and with Bill's help hoist the basket and ringbearer back up the cliffside. Merry and Pippin became quite driven after hearing the idea, focusing on weaving the strongest rope they could. What you see here is the culmination of their efforts," he gestured with a grin.

"Boromir, I do not know what to say," Aragorn said with a smile.

Boromir fiddled restlessly with the woven rope. "I only wished to make amends for my previously abhorrent behavior," he mumbled. "I quite enjoyed working with those two scamps, Merry and Pippin. I've developed quite an attachment to them," he added.

"They are scamps, to be sure, but you seem to have become very important to them as well. They can be a handful at times but once given direction, can be considerably quick and industrious. You have shown great patience for them and their antics, something I have had to struggle with, unfortunately," observed Aragorn.

"They make me laugh," Boromir looked down with a smile. "It has been long since anyone or anything has made me laugh. They are a lighthearted people and I envy them and their innocence," he said.

Legolas shifted his weight so that he stood in front of Boromir. He had been lovingly admiring the workmanship of the basket as they spoke. "The weaving is beautiful. Where did you learn such craftsmanship?" he asked.

"My mother taught me when I was but a child. I would plait her hair sometimes as we spoke of simple things," he sighed wistfully.

Aragorn rose slowly. "Thank you for this, Boromir. You have solved a problem for us that we had not the ability to solve for ourselves." He placed a hand on the soldier's shoulder and squeezed it companionably. Boromir smiled slightly and with a nod, acknowledged the compliment. Legolas removed Aragorn's cloak slowly so as not to jostle the injured hobbit, and lay it aside. Then Boromir and Legolas loosed the straps while Aragorn held Frodo firmly to him. At last he was freed and Aragorn knelt and tenderly laid him in the basket, as he would have a newborn babe. Boromir could see little of Frodo's injuries due to the many layers of cloak and blanket, but gently padded additional blankets around the unconscious from and then stood, holding the basket aloft. He called up the cliff side that they were ready and slowly the light burden began to inch its way upwards. The three watched from below, holding their collective breathes until, at last, the basket was within easy reach of those on top. Aragorn retrieved his cloak and the three began to climb up the near vertical wall. It was a dangerous climb but they took frequent breaks to rest trembling muscles whenever a shallow ledge or handhold would allow it. At last they reached the top, helped each other over the edge, and moved quickly to the cave's entrance.

Gandalf had carried the basket and it's precious cargo, into the cave where it now rested near the fire. Sam sat beside the basket and wept softly as he gently touched his master on his hands or face or tucked blankets closer about him, fussing as always, while murmuring to his master and friend. Pippin had disengaged the rope and was now lovingly coiling it about his short arm. Merry was feeding one of his prized apples to Bill, telling him what a fine job he had done and how invaluable he was to all of them. None had taken their eyes from Frodo's still form since he had been set by the fire. Gandalf greeted the three while Gimli continued to cut small branches into kindling.

"My friends, well done. Well done indeed," Gandalf murmured as they entered the cave. "Tell me what we can do to help you with Frodo," he asked. Instantly all eyes were on Aragorn and he sighed inwardly as he warmed himself by the fire. He turned and knelt by the basket and gently reached in and removed Frodo to rest beside him on the sandy cave floor. He began to slowly unwrap the blanket and then, the cloak, from the too still hobbit. When Frodo was at last revealed to all there was a collective gasp. Aragorn slowly looked up into Gandalf's eyes.

"He is badly injured, Mithrandir. We will not be leaving this sanctuary for some days." This was said as a statement of fact and it was understood, would brook no argument from the wizard.

Gandalf frowned slightly. "I see. Well, the blizzard has shown no signs of relenting so it is just as well we stay here with some shelter from the storm instead of trying to fight the elements while carrying an injured hobbit, in any case," he murmured.

"I had steeled myself for more of an argument. You have surprised me again, my friend," Aragorn said.

"I am not totally bereft of feelings, Estel. I have loved this boy since he was a tot on Bilbo's knee and now he is hurting. While I do feel that time is slipping away from us by staying here, I see no reason to further torment this innocent soul to gain scant inches in such abysmal weather," he harrumphed.

Sam had Frodo's left hand in his. "He's so very cold, Strider," he whispered.

"Yes Sam, and it probably saved his life." A perplexed expression appeared on the gardener's face. Aragorn smiled wanly. "The cold slowed all of Frodo's bodily functions. He did not lose as much blood because his circulation was reduced. The numbness actually helped dull the pain and lessen the swelling of the damaged areas in his hip, arm and his head. But he is hypothermic and it is now that we should try to slowly bring his body temperature back to normal. If only we had a basin deep enough to immerse him in," he murmured to himself.

"Aye, we do," exclaimed Pippin. He was quickly aware that all eyes had turned to him and felt suddenly shy about speaking out of turn.

"What do you mean, Pippin?" Aragorn asked looking into the pert face of the youngest member of the Fellowship. Nothing could hold this one down for long, he thought to himself.

"Well, Merry and I were exploring a bit in the back of the cave," he gestured towards the narrow crevice sized room behind them. "And we found the rock floor has a big hollow where the water has been dripping, probably in the spring or summer. Anyway, it won't hold a man but it's almost the same size as my bathtub back home. In fact, I said to Merry 'Merry that's the same size as my...'" Pippin was interrupted by chuckles from Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn. Gandalf merely shook his head and rolled his eyes as he drew again on his pipe.

"What?" Pippin asked, rather indignantly.

"Pip, you really do go on, cousin," Merry said as he handed Pippin a piece of jerky. Pippin's eyes lit up at the sight of food, diverting his attention completely from his previous feelings of being the butt of some private joke.

"Merry would you be so kind as to show Legolas where this 'bathtub' is then Sam, perhaps we could heat some water in your pans, mix it with cold and clean some of this dirt and blood off of your master?" Aragorn soon had all three hobbits eagerly doing his bidding as the other members of the group moved in around him and began speaking quietly amongst themselves.

"How is Frodo really, Aragorn?" Gimli asked. The dwarf's mannerisms may have had all outward appearances of his gruff exterior but his eyes showed genuine concern for the welfare of their fallen comrade.

Aragorn looked up at Boromir, who wore a worried frown on his handsome face, then to Gandalf who bit nervously on his pipe stem. He sighed. "He is holding his own. He is hypothermic but the bath should help to alleviate most of the cold his is feeling. His right arm is badly broken and he has lost a good deal of blood. His left leg was dislocated but Legolas and I managed to remedy that and he has a rather severe concussion. In addition, I don't know if you were aware of this or not, but before Frodo fell from the mountain he was beginning to show early signs of some sort of breathing problem, possibly brought on by the thinner air, but I strongly suspect he was developing pneumonia." Heavy sighs issued from all along with much head shaking and murmurs. "We need to get him warmed up first, then see to his other injuries. Something warm to eat or drink will help immensely."

"Oh, aye, Mr. Strider," Sam said as he caught the last sentence. "I've both, sir. Mr. Frodo has been wantin' some tea and I've made a hearty stew as well," he happily offered.

"Excellent, Sam. Have the rest of you eaten?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes sir, Mr. Strider. We was jes' waitin' for you to return with my master, but Pippin, Merry, Mr. Gandalf and meself we've had our fill," he said.

"Very good. Let's see how the bath is doing, shall we?" Aragorn said as he made to move into the crevice. He examined it thoroughly and wasn't quite sure if he could fit through the opening. Finally he removed his cloak, belts and blades and turning sideways, was able to force his way into the small 'room'. The alcove was dimly lit with two or three torches that had been placed in the rocks about the center of the cave. The floor quickly fell away to a shallow hollow, which was to be used as Frodo's bath. Aragorn had to stoop and would have been hard pressed to call it actually a room at all. It was roughly the size of a small cart, large enough for hobbits but claustrophobic for anyone larger. He knelt by the hollow and saw that its bottom was lined with fine sand and was fed by a steadily dripping stalactite far above his head. He nodded and rose to leave.

"Beggin' your pardon sir, but mayhap Mr. Legolas ought to bring Mr. Frodo to you seein' as how you would never get through that openin' with him held to ya, if you take my meanin', sir," Sam pointed out.

"Of course Sam, how about we get some more blankets in here first then we can retrieve your master. If only we had some soap," he murmured.

"Oh, aye, I brought some wid me, I did." At the astonished look on Aragorn's face, Sam blushed. "Mr. Frodo woulda never thought o' it, he was in such a state when we left, so I packed anything I thought he might be needin' or wantin'," Sam murmured.

"Sam, you are a marvel just as your master always says. My heart is indeed gladdened that you came along with Frodo," he said smiling. Sam blushed furiously at the comment and ran to retrieve all the supplies. Once everything was made ready Legolas slowly scooped Frodo up and carried him to the opening. Seamlessly the elf handed off the ringbearer to Aragorn, who managed to carry him to the pool without causing any additional discomfort to the hobbit. Aragorn slowly knelt by the hollow and began to unwind the bandages surrounding Frodo's clothing and body. Frodo whimpered at the movements but did not waken. Aragorn checked the water temperature and with a gesture to Pippin, asked for more cold water to be brought. Pippin stopped and stared at the ranger, as did Merry and Sam.

"Cold? Don't you mean warm water, Strider?" he asked quietly.

"No Pippin, cold water. In fact why don't you scoop up some snow and let it melt in the bath instead?" he said as he continued to slowly unbind Frodo's bandages. He looked up when he detected no movement from the hobbits. He saw the looks of confusion and elaborated. "Frodo has been very, very cold for many hours now. His body, if subjected to too warm of water, will go into shock from the drastic temperature change. We must bathe him in cool water, by our reckoning, but the water will feel warm to Frodo. Gradually, we will add more and more hot water until his temperature equals our own," he explained. Understanding dawned on the three and they moved as one to collect the snow for the bath. Sam placed more water on the fire in anticipation of adding it gradually to his master's bath. When, at last, Frodo had been divested of his bandages and clothing, leaving only the bandages on his right arm, Aragorn slowly slipped both himself and Frodo into the water. He chuckled at the surprised looks from the hobbits. "I will lay Frodo across me like thus," he laid the injured hobbit across his lap and slowly began to lather and rinse the grimy body. "That way Frodo will not be jostled as much while he is bathed," he explained.

"But Strider, you'll freeze," Merry said in alarm.

"Thank you for your concern, Meriadoc, but I am already quite wet from the snow. Once Frodo has been cleaned and his hurts dealt with, I will change into some drier clothing, I assure you," he said with a small smile.

Frodo coughed wetly, and Aragorn looked up in concern. As Frodo was further enveloped by the tepid water, he stilled. His furrowed brow was the only sign that he was experiencing any discomfort. As the bath was slowly added to with increasingly warmer water, he became more and more fitful, his pains reawakening with the thawing of his body. Finally, he began to cry out, his agony was so great. Aragorn slowly stood, holding his friend close to his body, as a blanket was wrapped about both shivering forms. Legolas was called for and, once again, met them at the room's opening, a dry, warmed blanket already in his arms for Frodo to be wrapped in. When Aragorn emerged from the alcove he saw that Legolas sat by the fire, Frodo in his arms, rocking gently back and forth in a futile attempt at calming the pain filled cries that issued from the blankets. Aragorn retrieved Frodo from Legolas and laid him on the many blankets that would serve as Frodo's bed for the night. He instructed that willow tea be made and a bowl of warm water brought. He crushed three small leaves onto the water and began soaking bandages in the fragrant brew. Slowly he wound each bandage around Frodo's many injuries. He began with the broken arm, removing the old, bloody gauze then replacing it with the warm athelas soaked bandage which he wound snuggly around the small arm. The he took two small pieces of bark that Gimli had cut for him, and re-splinted the forearm. Next he moved to Frodo's chest and, again soaked bandages in the water and bound the fractured ribs tight enough to hold them in place. He hoped that the warm vapors from the athelas would also help Frodo to breathe easier. He dipped a cloth in the water and gently held it to the bloody cut on the back of Frodo's head then dry wrappings were applied around his skull. The hip was bound lastly after further washings with the fragrant water.

Aragorn shifted his weight and gathered his friend across his lap. Slowly he spooned the willow tea then the warm broth into the small mouth which Frodo instinctively swallowed. Legolas approached, and seeing how Aragorn trembled from the cold, said "Estel, come, you must change your own clothing and eat or you will become ill."

"No Legolas, not until Frodo has been cared for," Aragorn said without looking up.

"Estel..."

"No," he said, looking up at Legolas. "I will see to my own needs only after I have seen to his," he said firmly.

Legolas sighed and left, mumbling something about stiff-necked rangers under his breath. After Aragorn was satisfied that Frodo had eaten well and that he had done all he could to alleviate the hobbit's cold and hurts, he tenderly lay him beneath the many covers. He reached for his healers pouch and brought out a small jar. He opened it, dipped a finger in, looked at how much he had scooped up and scraped some back into the jar. When he finally seemed satisfied by the amount he raised Frodo by his shoulders and placed the dollop under his tongue.

"What's that, Mr. Strider?" asked Sam, who had stayed by Frodo's side throughout the feeding and bandaging and was now tucking blankets about his trembling master.

"It is a paste made from poppy seeds. It will help with the pain so that Frodo can rest," Aragorn said wearily.

Sam discreetly eyed the ranger. "You've taken right good care o' him, sir, now you should change out o' them wet clothes and eat some o' that nice hot stew I made," Sam softly chided.

Aragorn smiled. "I will Sam. But I have one last thing to do first. Merry, Pippin ... could you come over here," he called to the cousins as they sat with Boromir by the fire. They immediately rose and walked to the ranger. "I need the three of you to do Frodo a favor," he said.

"Anything," they all chimed.

"I need you to strip down to your small clothes," Aragorn said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Snorts abounded from the group gathered about the fire. All three hobbits blushed and began to stammer arguments. "Gentlemen, Frodo's body will not be able to hold any warmth for some time and he will need you to keep him warm this night. While sleeping close to him in your clothing will impart some small amount of warmth, sleeping close to him in your small clothes will impart even more. So...I say again, strip, please," he looked at each of them with a look of grim determination and rose, crossing to the fire. He began to change into his dry clothing turning his back to the threesome. The rest of the Fellowship also turned their backs on the hobbits, but a few chuckles and snorts were heard. Merry, Pippin and Sam stood gaping at the ranger's back. Sam turned and looked at his master's trembling body.

"Well, you heard 'em," he whispered, pointing at Frodo. "He needs us to help him stay warm, he does." Merry and Pippin saw their cousin's quaking form and quickly all three were stripped down to their shorts and crawling beneath the mountain of blankets and huddled closely about their friend and cousin. Soon they were all comfortably drowsy and eyelids, pair by pair, began to slip closed. Aragorn checked on Frodo one last time before leaving Boromir on first watch to climb into his own bedroll.

Hours later, while Gimli now stood watch, Frodo's eyes slowly crept open. He did not know where he was only that he was in complete darkness, save for the glow of the banked fire, and that his body thrummed with a dull pain. But he was warm and on all sides of him were the similarly warm bodies of his friends and kin. He felt safe and drowsy, despite the pain. He allowed his body to relax once again, as his eyelids drooped of their own accord. He was almost asleep when he heard, ever so faintly, a voice in the dark. 'Do not trust them...they want only the Ring' it hissed. His eyes flew open as he was seized by sudden panic. He listened for long moments for the voice to return, but gradually the sedative Aragorn had given him and the overall fatigue of the day claimed him and he slowly slipped into dark dreams.

To be continued


	4. "Torn in Two"

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

I apologize for it taking me so long to update. RL has been frantic. I will do my best to update sooner, but be warned, I am in a real pile of do-do with my other activities so please, please be patient with me....and thanks as always, for being such devoted readers.

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

Chapter 4

"Torn in Two"

Once again Frodo found himself journeying along the dark corridor towards the brightly lit room. He entered, as before, and looked to the dais and found that Lorelei was waiting there for him.

"Frodo, Frodo, wonderful, simply wonderful to see you again," she gushed. If anything Frodo's memory of her did not now compare to the vision before him. She looked even more radiant and pure than his previous visit. Her hair flowed long and gleaming to her small waist, her rose colored mouth was drawn into a shy smile over her perfectly even white teeth, while her light green eyes gazed admiringly at him. She moved towards him her gown first a pale blue, almost white, then changing to a darker green as the folds flowed about her lithe form. "I wondered if you had forgotten me, my dear", she crooned; her face frowning in mock hurt.

"No...no, I could never do that, milady," Frodo stammered shyly. He looked down at his feet as crimson flushed over his cheeks.

"Oh, do not look down and deprive me of those lovely blue eyes of yours," Lorelei said as she gently lifted his chin with one of her alabaster fingers. She smiled. For some reason Frodo felt like the last chicken in the hen yard being surveyed hungrily by a ravenous wolf. He shook his head slightly to dispel the image. "Will you sit with me awhile?" She glided effortlessly to a low couch, patting the cushion beside her as she lowered herself down.

"Of course, Lorelei, I would love to," he said beaming an adoring smile at her.

"So, tea?" she asked as she watched him twist his cloak between his hands.

"No...no, thank you, Mistress." Frodo would have dearly loved a cup of tea but did not want to have to be in the same room with the odd servant Astrid, if he could avoid it. He much preferred having the enchanting lady beside him all to himself.

"Are you well, Frodo?" Lorelei asked, a look of concern crossing her lovely face as she reached out and grasped his hands in hers, stilling the twisting of the cloak.

"Fine, really. I awoke a short time ago and found myself in a cave. All of my friends were there with me and I was warmly wrapped in blankets sleeping with my kin. I was very lucky that they found me and tended to my wounds or I am sure, I would not have survived," he said with a smile as his eyes shifted sideways to Lorelei.

"Lucky? I do not doubt it," Lorelei said with a sneer. "But it had nothing to do with your *friends*. Who do you think it was that spared your life, Frodo? Not your *friends* I can assure you," she said petulantly. She rose and walked a short distance to a fireplace that Frodo *knew* had not been there a moment ago.

"You? But why would you do that? What possible gain would you have by helping me?" He asked.

At the word 'gain' her shoulders had tensed and her head had snapped up. She swung around and Frodo drew back at the seething anger that emanated from her almost black eyes. She quickly composed herself, her face and demeanor becoming, serene once more. "I apologize, Frodo. I have a horrid temper," she looked imploringly at him, and once again Frodo was enthralled by her flawless beauty. "I saved you for two reasons. One, I could not bear the world to be without your innocent soul. Number two, together, with my help of course, we will see the Ring to it's final resting place. I decided that to do so I would need to intervene on your behalf. You could *never* have survived such a fall and, I think you'll find, your injury to your hip will heal faster than without my intervention."

"My leg, why not my other injuries as well?" Frodo asked, curious.

"Well, really. Is it not enough that I saved you from certain death and am here to give you my council?" She snapped.

"I..oh...no, I am truly grateful, so very grateful for all you have done. I...how rude of me...I did not mean to imply I expected anything more. You have been most generous," Frodo stammered, jumping to his feet and bowing low to the ethereal being.

"Not at all," Lorelei said haughtily, sweeping past the humbled hobbit and plopping herself down on the settee once more. "Sit Frodo," she said. It did not sound like a request.

Frodo sat and once more, gazing at the vision before him. 'Were she only a hobbit,' he thought to himself. He realized suddenly, that he was totally enamored of this creature. Lorelei smiled deviously. She knew she had finally succeeded in weaving the ringbearer under her spell. The black bead glowed a sinister red against her fair skin.

"Who, among my friends, would take my Ring from me?" Frodo asked. "Why would they not leave me to die if it is as you say?" It was not lost on Lorelei that the hobbit considered the ring his property. She quickly decided that the small possessive word 'my' could be used to her advantage.

"I am not privy to their motivations in saving your life, nor do I care," she replied with a huff. "I only know that eventually they will see that you do not survive your injuries and leave your carcass upon the mountain side. They will take *your* Ring from your corpse and claim It as their own. There will be much fighting and contention over the jewel until, one by one, each will perish at the hands of the victor. Then he will claim It as his own.

Frodo clutched possessively at the Ring, which glowed brightly against his palm, leaving a small circle in Its wake. It whispered affirmation of all Lorelei said. Speaking words of caution and feeding the paranoia it had subtilely implanted along the journey. 'They will take me as their own. I belong to you. I am *yours* alone, *your* precious, and they will take me from you. They will whisper words of comfort and concern to you while they secretly conspire against you and slowly poison you with their remedies, water and foods until you languish and succumb to your illness.' It whispered. Frodo normally would have recognized the Ring's taunting for what it was but his body was weakened and broken and he only half realized that the whisperings were slowly fueling his paranoia.

"You are in grave danger," Lorelei said, leaning towards him, her eyes blackened and flickered with an fell light. The bead about her long neck gleamed blindingly bright and Frodo found himself locked in her gaze, unable to turn away. Lorelei's face darkened, a triumphant smile upon her invidious countenance.

Frodo tore his eyes away at last and rose, walking to a mirror that had appeared upon the wall. He hardly recognized his image his clothes were so tattered and covered in blood. His arm was twisted and covered in gore and he clutched it to his chest. He found that his hip no longer dragged uselessly at his side but still throbbed with a dull ache. His face was bruised and bloodied and a pasty white. He dismissed the images before him, thinking instead of Lorelei's warnings and, subconsciously, the whispers of the Ring. He could not bring himself to distrust his companions out of hand. There was something amiss; something that niggled at the back of his brain like an itch that could not be reached. He turned to Lorelei, and found himself captivated by her radiance. Was it his imagination or did she become more beautiful each time he looked upon her? "I...I do not know what to do. I have not seen any sign of deception from my companions, only devotion and concern for my well-being." Frodo thought of Sam and his constant hovering and felt a pang of guilt for snapping at the loving gestures of his friend. And what of Aragorn who seemed to be constantly watching him for any sign of illness or fatigue. He could at least trust them, couldn't he? His thoughts went to his cousins and Gandalf. Could they really be plotting against him? And then there was this mysterious woman that had only displayed gestures of kindness to him, saving his life and helping to heal his wounds. Why would she do these things if she had ulterior motives? He thought of her pure beauty, her gentle touch. Certainly she was given to anger but who was not when confronted or insulted?, he mused.

Frodo shook his head. "I am sorry, milady, but I cannot see deceit in any of them."

Lorelei's face clouded in sudden anger. "You risk us all, all of Middle Earth including your Shire, with your short sightedness. Saruman is your only hope. He alone is capable of wielding the one Ring. After all, he *is* the White Wizard and wisest of all the council. He would restore all to its original beauty and you would be wise to entrust It to him. If he were not held captive in Orthanc by Gandalf the *Gray* and his minions he would be beside you to guide and lovingly protect you against the evil that lurks amidst your very nose; amidst you wonderful Fellowship." She said scornfully.

Frodo could not believe that Gandalf, his long time friend whom he had always trusted and revered could be capable of such treachery. He felt torn and confused by the conflicting feelings that barraged him. "I am sorry, Mistress, but I must think further on the things you have said. I am still puzzled as to why they, so far, have shown no sign of deceit, save possibly, Boromir. They rescued me from almost certain death; Sam has constantly tried to make me eat and Aragorn has pressed cures upon me for every malady," Frodo said, his eyes pleaded for understanding from Lorelei.

Lorelei laughed bitterly. "Know you not that they are slowly poisoning you with their foods and cures? Why do you suppose they are so insistent about you taking them?" She sniffed, her beautiful lower lip quivered. She withdrew a delicate handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her tear-filled azure eyes.

"Can you not see that I am so very worried for you. I do not know what I would do if something were to happen to you. I only wish to protect you and yet you still do not trust me even after all I've done for you. Your safety and well-being have always been foremost in my actions and you repay me with suspicion and doubt," she sobbed, her voice quavering with hurt.

"No..no Milady, it is not that. Please forgive me for hurting your feelings," Frodo rushed towards her.

"No. You have injured me deeply. I do not believe I can bear your presence any longer at this time. Please leave," she whispered.

Frodo's eyes widened and he tried to reach out and grasp one of her delicate hands, but she pulled away, twisting her face to the side, avoiding his gaze. He panicked at the thought of being sent from her presence. "Please lady, do not send me away," he begged.

"No. I wish to be alone. Perhaps you will be allowed to return at some later time," she wept.

"Please accept my heartfelt apology, Mistress. I ...my manners have been disgraceful," he said beseechingly. He knelt before her.

She waved him off with one delicate hand as she would a pesky insect, and Frodo backed slowly towards the dark corridor, his head bowed and shoulders slumped.

After Lorelei was certain Frodo was gone her face took on its true form and her mouth curved into an evil smile. Astrid emerged from the shadows, a worried frown on her face. "Mistress, perhaps you were too hard on the hobbit. What if he does not return?" she said.

Lorelei laughed, revealing stained and crooked teeth. "He will return. His is enamored with the female even though she is beyond his reach. Soon he will eagerly offer her the Ring." Her eyes blackened. "He will be mine to mold or shape as I see fit and the Ring of Power will be within my grasp." Her face broke into a predatory smile.

************************************************************************

Gandalf sat contemplatively puffing on his pipe at the mouth of the cave. The rest of the Fellowship slept. His gaze moved towards Frodo and his eyes squinted in worry. Something was wrong. A feeling of evil had suddenly permeated the air. He peered into the cave and watched as Frodo cried out in his sleep, moving his head back and forth, caught in some dark dream.

"Something is very wrong. Very wrong," he muttered to himself.

To be continued-


	5. "Questions Asked"

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

I apologize for it taking me so long to update. RL has been frantic. I will do my best to update sooner, but be warned, I am in a real pile of do-do with my other activities so please, please be patient with me....and thanks as always, for being such devoted readers.

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

Chapter Five

 

"Questions Asked"

"...so cold still...to the fire? Afraid his chill would worsen'...stay beside him..." The soft murmur of voices and the general throbbing of his aching body strove to awaken Frodo. He thickly tried to lick at his parched lips but could find no hint of moisture in his mouth. He felt himself raised slightly and groaned as pain sliced through his hip and arm.

"I am sorry, my friend. Here, take small sips, Frodo," came a soothing voice. Something cool was pressed to his lips and its lukewarm contents trickled into his dry mouth. Tea, it was tea, his brain exclaimed, overjoyed at the surprise. He began to gulp and slurp hungrily but as he did, the cup was withdrawn. He whimpered pathetically, his mouth screaming for more of the delectable brew with which to quench itself. "Slowly, Frodo. You do not want to have it all come back up," the voice softly chided. The cup returned once again and this time Frodo tried not to slurp impatiently at the contents so that it would not, once again, be taken from him. "Better, much better. Now let's try some of the broth. Sam created it with you alone in mind and would be most pleased to have you enjoy it as well," came the voice.

Frodo froze. 'Created it with you alone in mind...' He felt the cup returned to his lips but this time he turned away, pressing his mouth into an unyielding line. Slowly he allowed his eyes to crack open and looked up into the confused face of the ranger.

"Won't you try a little, Frodo? It will warm and strengthen you. Just a few small sips?" Aragorn asked gently. Frodo's eyes widened as he looked up at Aragorn. Other faces appeared around the ranger peering down at him and beginning to talk all at once. Frodo gasped as his eyes lit on each person, fear evident on his face. Aragorn shushed them all and looked down, once again, at the now near panicked ringbearer. "Frodo. Do you know who I am?" He asked gently.

Frodo tried to quell his panic and swallowed thickly. "Y..es, Argor'" Frodo barely whispered.

Aragorn smiled. "That's right, and who is this?" he pointed to Sam.

"Ssam," Frodo replied, his eyes lingering on the worried face above him. Sam smiled, tears in his eyes.

"That's right, Master. We're all here and you're gonna be right as rain in no time," Sam whispered fervently.

"Please Sam," Aragorn said.

"Sorry sir. Didn't mean to interrupt," Sam said, looking down.

"Not at all, Sam. I wish only for Frodo to answer to make sure that your Master has had no memory loss." Aragorn looked back into Frodo's eyes, which, once again, widened in fear with the sudden scrutiny. Aragorn frowned. 'If Frodo knows who everyone is then what is making him so frightened?' he pondered to himself. "Frodo, who is this?" he pointed to Merry.

"Mer."

"And this?"

"Pip."

"Who is this person?" Aragorn pointed to Gimli.

Frodo frowned as a sudden pain lanced through his head. "'imli," he gasped. Aragorn reached for another cup and brought it to Frodo's mouth.

"Here, my friend, this will help with the pain." He tipped the cup, but at the last moment Frodo turned his chin away and the liquid ran down across his cheek. "Frodo? I realize it is probably bitter but it will ease you. Do not be stubborn now, please." Aragorn looked beseechingly into Frodo's frightened face. "We only wish to help you. You know that."

"No. No medicines," Frodo rasped and began coughing. It had a wet sound to it and Aragorn could feel Frodo's back clench as it tried to expel the mucous that had collected in his lungs. He lifted Frodo so that he was almost sitting and gently rubbed the back of the gasping hobbit. Frodo cried out in agony as his position was changed but the coughing was so intense he realized, suddenly, that he had a much more urgent problem; he could not breath. Choking more than coughing, he turned his sweat-covered face and panic filled eyes towards Aragorn. Aragorn turned Frodo so that he lay across his knees and delivered several thumps to the bruised and broken ribcage. At last Frodo vomited a thick bloody mucous, his body convulsing as he cried out in pain. When he was spent, Aragorn slowly rolled him back into his arms. A flurry of activity surrounded the two but to Frodo, only a dull pounding filled his head. His eyes were closed and sweat covered his pale face. Aragorn accepted a warm, damp cloth from Pippin and began washing Frodo's clammy features as the hobbit valiantly struggled to bring each breath into his infected lungs.

"There, there cousin. You are safe here with your friends and family," Pippin whispered as he drew slow circles with his fingertips gently over the elder cousin's left hand. Frodo's eyes opened a crack and he stared up into the green eyes above him.

"Pip?"

"Aye, Frodo." Pip's voice quavered making Aragorn suddenly aware of just how badly this whole experience had shaken the irrepressible Took.

"Thank you," Frodo said. Pippin bent and placed a kiss on Frodo's forehead. He pulled back suddenly, surprised at the heat that radiated from his kin. He glanced up at Aragorn, who nodded slightly, wordlessly telling him that he already knew of the fever that raged in the body he held loosely to his own.

"Anytime cousin," Pippin said with a slight smile. He rose and walked to where the others were sitting beside the fire, trying to give some room to the ailing hobbit. All eyes were turned on them, each face registering deep concern for their friend.

"Now Master Baggins, that we are somewhat alone, perhaps you could tell me what you are so afraid of?" Aragorn watched as Frodo squirmed against him, trying to evade the ranger's gray eyes. He winced and a low hiss escaped his lips as he bumped the right arm slightly.

"Nothing."

"You lie, ringbearer." Aragorn gave Frodo a scornful grin. "There is nothing to fear amongst those gathered here. All have worked most diligently to make you comfortable and well. He gestured to each as he spoke. Sam provided us with torches and some of his treasured rendered fat to light them, his cloak to wrap you in, as well as blankets, food and drink for all. He has not left your side since we returned." Frodo's eyes misted over as he looked over at his friend, the normally cheerful face now a mask of worry and stress. "Merry, Gimli and Boromir felled and then drug many trees to bring fuel for our fire. Boromir wove this basket and Merry and Pippin, the rope you see before you from the bark so that you could be lifted up the mountainside to safety." Frodo gazed in wonder at the woven goods. He looked over at the man and wondered if he could have been wrong about other things that had concerned him about the Gondorian. Merry smiled tentatively from across the room. Frodo winced as he tried to return the gesture. "Pippin was instrumental in preparing bandages and warming blankets to wrap about you. He, Gandalf and Sam prepared a hearty stew and pots of tea that waited for us and our return." Frodo laughed ruefully, picturing the last time Pippin had attempted to make a meal. The laugh turned into another coughing fit causing his head to pound and chest to feel as if it would explode. Aragorn gently rubbed the battered back. Finally the fit passed but it left Frodo weak and limp and he slumped against the ranger. Aragorn pointed to Legolas. "Legolas and I searched for you and brought you back to camp. If it had not been for all of the Fellowship working in unison towards this common goal, your safe return to us, we would have lost you, Frodo. So, tell me why you are suddenly so afraid of those who have worked so hard and with such depth of concern and love for you," he again looked into Frodo's eyes.

Frodo felt small and incredibly ungrateful of the companions in the room. His eyes filled with tears as he thought again of the lovely Lorelei and her warnings. "She said...she said..." he began to stammer.

"She who, Frodo?" a gentle, wizened voice asked from a darkened corner. "Of whom do you speak of, my dear hobbit?" Gandalf asked as he moved slowly towards Frodo and Aragorn. Frodo flinched back gasping in surprise and Aragorn frowned at the look of distrust that clouded the hobbit's features. Gandalf wore an expression of puzzled hurt.

"Frodo Baggins, why, in Eru's name do you quail before me? I have been your friend since you were a diminutive tot pulling on my beard." The wizard's brow furrowed with confusion and sadness. Frodo studied the wizard warily, trying to separate feelings of long time trust, love and respect from Lorelei's warnings. He still held onto the belief that she must be mistaken but could not shake the images she had so seductively planted in his brain.

"Who is this 'she' you speak of, Frodo? Has someone spoken with you, Frodo? It is essential that you tell us of anything that you hear, dream of, or feel, no matter how innocuous it may seem, if it disturbs you or causes you concern. Then we can help you decipher truth from lies. We are here to help you, Frodo. I am your advisor and friend while Aragorn has sworn his very life to protect you. If something bothers you, it should be aired so that we can discuss and solve the problem quickly thereby thwarting any attempt by evil from reaching you before it is too late," he whispered. His eyes were soft as he looked upon someone he thought of as a dear friend.

Frodo gave the wizard a questioning look. Aragorn watched Frodo's face closely and, if he had not known better, would have described the look in Frodo's blue eyes as one of doubt. Frodo had never doubted Gandalf to his knowledge. He knew the hobbit so respected and loved the Istari that he would have done anything the wizard wished if but asked of him, but now he saw *doubt*. A chill ran up his spine and he shivered at the thought of what could have possibly got to Frodo to cause him to question his friends. 'Preposterous. You are letting your imagination take hold. He is merely confused and exhausted, and well he should be. A very bad knock to the head in addition to all his other injuries, plus he's very ill, malnourished and hypothermic. All of these things or just one could make him anxious or disoriented,' he thought to himself. Still. There was something, something about the way Frodo looked at each of them, not just Gandalf, that emoted a feeling in Aragorn he seldom experienced; Fear. A cold trickle of dread clawed at his heart and caused his stomach to clench. What if something outside the Fellowship was trying to exert some sort of influence over the ringbearer and his new friend?

"Where were you?"

The barely audible question pulled Aragorn back from his musings. Gandalf leaned on his staff, bent towards the hobbit but far enough away so as not to be perceived as an immediate threat. The firelight flickered over his features and his shadow loomed large and menacingly on the cave wall.

"Where was I when, dear boy?" Gandalf asked.

"In Rivendell you said you had been 'detained' when I asked why you had not met us at the Prancing Pony. You never elaborated about what kept you from meeting us. Where were you, Gandalf?" Frodo asked again, his voice wavering. His furrowed brow gleamed with sweat and his breathing seemed to be becoming even more labored, Aragorn noted in concern.

The wizard stared hard at Frodo, a questioning look in his gray eyes. "I did not think it was pertinent at the time, to discuss what obstacles had been placed in my path but perhaps, that conversation is long over due," he murmured as he studied the patient, trying to understand the sudden change in Frodo's demeanor. He felt a chill wash over him as before, and wondered what had changed or what evil was being wrought to cause the looks of fear and distrust he now received from his young friend. "Very well Frodo, I will tell you what caused my delay if you will give me some information in exchange," he said, watching Frodo closely.

"What information?" Frodo's voice croaked. He eyed the wizard suspiciously.

"Tell us who 'she' is. And perhaps you could enlighten us as to your sudden defensiveness, suspicion and feelings of dread that have fairly filled this very room since your awakening," Gandalf said leaning further towards the hobbit.

Frodo's breathing quickened slightly causing a burst of harsh, ragged coughs to rip themselves from his narrow chest. His face twisted and blanched as the pain knifed through him, black dots danced before his eyes as he struggled to pull in even a single lungful of air. Aragorn raised him from his reclined position and motioned to Sam to bring him a basin of hot water. Frodo's situation was becoming more desperate by the second. His face was now a dusky purple and his lips blue, his efforts at coughing had all but stopped and it was apparent to Aragorn and the rest of the assembled members of the group, that he now barely drew breath. His eyes were open but unseeing and a gurgling sound could be heard as his chest labored for each agonizing pull. Aragorn pressed his fingers to Frodo's throat feeling a too rapid pulse beat and winced at what he knew he had to do, but there was little choice. He laid Frodo over one bent knee and pressed his right hand against the ringbearer's back. He pressed upwards firmly towards the thin shoulders causing Frodo to flail weakly against him. After some moments, Frodo began coughing again until he gagged. More of the thick, bloody mucous was expelled from his mouth and he collapsed, totally spent, across Aragorn's lap. Merry appeared at Aragorn's side and after dipping a cloth in the warm water, gently began to remove the spittle and vomit from Frodo's face. Sam had paled considerably when the fit had taken his Master. He had been at a loss of what to do so he had run back and forth gathering tea, broth and medicines along with warmed blankets and flannels so that he would be prepared when called for. Now he stood watching as Merry lovingly washed his Master, shifting from foot to foot, his face a map of grief and anxiety.

"Here Sam, sit. I need your help," Aragorn said after one glance at the gardener. He knew that if Sam felt helpless when it came to his Master, that one had to remedy the situation quickly or the devoted friend would find the circumstances unbearable and break down.

Sam was now kneeling beside Aragorn's knees and had a light hand lain on his Master's feverish brow. He flashed a quick smile and look of thanks to Aragorn. Aragorn smiled reassuringly back. "We need to try and open up his air passages. I will add athelas to this bowl of steaming water and then we will hold Frodo's head over it. We will cover his head with a cloth so that the vapors have the full effect on his lungs." Sam nodded his understanding. Aragorn crushed the athelas, murmuring to himself as he spread them on the surface of the water. Sam draped Frodo's head with his cloak as Aragorn held him over the steaming bowl. Gandalf watched concernedly from behind Aragorn. The others had formed a loose circle around the trio save for Legolas who was standing watch. Aragorn grimaced as he held Frodo by the shoulders. The hobbit hung over his arm like a child's lifeless doll. No sound had he made except that of the strained inhale and exhale of air. He hadn't moved or shown any sign of consciousness. If they were unable to ease Frodo's breathing he knew the ringbearer would die as his body slowly drowned in its own fluids. A small cough, then another and then Aragorn felt the chest muscles begin to relax as the piney scent of the athelas filled Frodo's makeshift tent and then spilled over into the rest of the cave. Relieved sighs were heard about the room and Sam smiled hopefully up at the wizard and the ranger.

"We will keep him here for a few moments then, if I have all that I need, I will make a mustard plaster to give Frodo more relief," he said to the group. Slowly Frodo was removed from the drape and laid back against Aragorn's chest. His face was dewy from the combined moisture from the steam and his fever, his hair hanging in wet ringlets about his flushed face. Slowly he cracked open his eyes and a weak smile graced his face.

"Forgive me. I should not listen to her. But she is very persuasive and so very beautiful. So filled with white light that I cannot look fully upon her....I am so sorry, so sorry...." He closed his eyes again as fatigue fully claimed him.

"Frodo. Who? Whom do you speak of? Frodo you must tell us more," Gandalf 's voice rose as he willed the ringbearer to return to consciousness and speak more of this mysterious woman that had filled the hobbit's heart with lies and innuendo.

But Frodo would not wake.

To be continued-


	6. Spellbound

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

I apologize for it taking me so long to update. RL has been frantic. I will do my best to update sooner, but be warned, I am in a real pile of do-do with my other activities so please, please be patient with me....and thanks as always, for being such devoted readers.

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

Chapter 6

 

Spellbound

Lorelei sat slumped upon her "throne" looking decidedly exhausted. "Are you unwell, Mistress?" Astrid asked as she approached.

"I am simply fatigued. Keeping this form and the images surrounding me is very taxing." She clasped the black bead that lay against her alabaster throat tightly within her right fist. Her visage changed to that of a wrinkled, bent hag. Her eyes became entirely black, the center lit with orange flame, a deep maliciousness showing from the evil orbs. The hand was now a wrinkled claw with long discolored and broken nails. An eerie orange glow emanated from between her ancient fingers, and her eyes slowly closed. She took several deep breaths. Astrid had subconsciously stepped backwards, her eyes wide with revulsion and fear. She always recoiled at the sight of this malevolent being whenever it needed to tap its source of energy. Gradually the hideous creature began to morph back into the fragile and beautiful Lorelei. The hands were once more smooth and slender, her face glowing with youth and innocence. Her eyes were a crystal, clear blue and her hair changed from the oily, matted white strands to tresses that appeared to be spun of pure gold. Astrid began to relax as the conversion reached its climax and Lorelei now sat radiantly, before her. Lorelei smiled sweetly at her as she began to languidly brush her hair.

"I feel the ringbearer's strength weakening, but he still wishes to cling to his companions for strength and succor. He trusts so completely their advice and counsel that turning his loyalties to me has sapped my powers greatly," she murmured tiredly. Her eyes flickered with the evil that lay barely concealed within their depths. "We may have to resort to a more aggressive coercion on our small friend," she leered menacingly at Astrid, her voice cracking. She cackled a spite filled laugh as Astrid cringed before her. Astrid had suffered the methods of persuasion that her mistress spoke of and a cold chill ran up her spine. She had been forced to do things she would have normally found distasteful, even repugnant for her. The mistress had controlled her so completely resulting in the total breaking of her will, mind and spirit.

"Mistress, can you not use your charms to break him?" Astrid asked meekly.

"You forget yourself, Astrid. I will have to arrange another one of our little sessions to cure you of your lack of obedience once this situation is resolved," she shot a wicked look at her servant. Astrid bowed at Lorelei's feet, a look of sheer terror in her eyes.

"No Mistress, I meant no harm. Forgive me, I entreat you," she begged.

"We shall discuss this at a later time. My energies are directed towards the hobbit at present," she sneered hatefully. She clasped the bead once more. "Yes. I believe it is time to utilize other methods to nudge our hobbit into seeing our side of things. The spell will be weaker than if I had him in the physical world, but nothing can be done for that, I suppose," she murmured, her bent and grasping hand clutched at the bead as she ruminated on the pending subversion of the ringbearer. She jolted herself from her reverie and peered down at the quivering servant at her feet.

"Astrid, I don't want you here when our little ringbearer returns. You're presence makes him uneasy. You seem to have that effect on most people; an uneasiness bordering on revulsion," she said disdainfully. Astrid cringed and bowed obsequiously as she backed from the room. "And bring some tea and those horrid seed cakes that hobbits are so fond of," she ordered.

"Yes Mistress."

"Be quick about it; he'll be here at any moment," she barked.

"Yes Mistress," Astrid whispered.

The tea and cakes were brought and placed on a low table by the fire and Astrid hurriedly withdrew.

Lorelei closed her eyes and concentrated on her appearance. Slowly she transformed into the ethereal being Frodo was so enamored of. She moved to a low couch and calmly began to pour tea. She took a cup for herself just as Frodo emerged from the darkened corridor. He walked slowly towards her and took a seat in the overstuffed armchair she indicated. The chair was immensely comfortable and he breathed a sigh of contentment as his broken body sank into the cushions.

"How are you my dear friend?" she asked, her face a mask of concern and empathy. She crossed to him as another chair, not as heavily padded as Frodo's but beautiful nonetheless, appeared across from him. She sank into the chair, set her tea down and took Frodo's hands in hers.

"Dear Lady, I was in the greatest pain until this very moment when I beheld you once again," Frodo whispered reverently.

Lorelei smiled sweetly. "How generous of you to say such kind words, Frodo. Please, I have tea and cakes. You must be famished." She retrieved a plate with cake surrounded by strawberries. A nice touch, she thought. I must congratulate Astrid's foresight when I see her next, she mused. She poured a cup of tea, sweetened it, and handed it to Frodo.

"Yes Lady, I am very hungry. I have yet to eat since rejoining my friends." He eyed the cake hungrily. Lorelei followed his gaze and smiled secretly.

"My poor, poor friend," she gushed as she handed Frodo the plate. His mouth salivated as he beheld the strawberries. He looked up at Lorelei and she nodded, smiling gently. He attacked the cakes as only a starving person could. As he ate, taking large bites almost before the last had been swallowed, he became aware that there was no flavor to the sweets, only the feeling of his hunger still unfulfilled. His mouth tasted of ash and he began to swallow with difficulty as the meal coalesced into a heavy, rancid lump in his stomach. He gulped the tea to dispel the queasiness overcoming him. He pushed the food from him and looked questioningly up at Lorelei. He realized he had never seen Lorelei eat and an uneasy feeling crept over him.

"Have you thought more about what we discussed earlier?" she asked softly.

Frodo shifted in his seat nervously. "I have Milady. I have known many of the Fellowship all of my life. The others I have the deepest respect for. I am sorry, Lorelei, I have tried to discern any sign of deception but have seen only love, concern and devotion for myself. I must keep my own council on this matter, I have decided. I will remain alert to signs of duplicity, but until I perceive such, I will continue to rely on their guidance and friendship," Frodo said thoughtfully.

Lorelei rose slowly and crossed to the fireplace, her face dark with anger. She fought to control her emotions and assume the aura of the graceful, but saddened, loser. Frodo watched her carefully, a feeling of trepidation beginning to fill his heart. 'Why should I feel apprehensive concerning my decision and its effect on Lorelei? Did she not counsel me to trust my decisions and myself? Am I not doing just that?' He thought to himself.

Lorelei turned back to Frodo, her face empty of emotion. She returned to her chair, clutching the bead with one hand and her staff with the other. She smiled sadly as the staff dipped imperceptibly. Frodo's body twisted in agony as stabbing pains knifed through his broken arm and hip. He gasped and tried to quell the nausea he felt swirling in his stomach. 'I will be mortified,' he thought, 'if I vomit in front of this beautiful lady.'

"Oh, are you in pain, my friend?" she asked, a note of distain in her voice. Frodo was unable to answer; all his concentration focused on staying conscious. "I grieve for you, ringbearer. I fear your choice will doom the peoples of Middle Earth and you will be lost from this world in the process." Lorelei continued to ignore Frodo's obvious distress.

Frodo blanched, his brow covered in perspiration. "Still, I must listen to my heart on this matter. And my heart says that they are true, and their motives genuine. I do still have some doubts and questions that need answering. Sometimes I think Strider medicates my food or drink, but I am fairly certain he only does it because I have been so resistant, in the past, to taking my tonics, and that his motive is out of concern for my well being. Gandalf and Strider share many secret conversations that I am excluded from but I am sure, that they are only talking of the best ways to travel or other matters that do not require my attentions," Frodo gasped as yet another spasm gripped his battered body.

"I admire your trust in your friends. But I assure you, there are ulterior motives afloat within your Fellowship," she said, her voice sarcastic. Frodo began to object, but Lorelei silenced him with a raised hand. "I will not say that *all* of your companions have succumb to the pull of the Ring, but be wary, there is more at work here than you are willing to accept. She leaned forward in her chair, her long, delicate fingers caressing the black bead about her neck. Frodo's eyes were slowly drawn to it and he found he was powerless to look away. His pain dimmed as he sat, mesmerized, by the slow rolling of the bead between Lorelei's slender fingers.

He was weary and his eyes began to dip slowly closed. They crept back open but still his gaze lay upon the simple necklace. The center of the bead glowed with a malevolent fire and gradually the whole bead appeared to be aflame. Lorelei languidly continued to roll the bead between her fingers as she began to speak in a low, calm voice.

"Frodo are you all right?" she asked, her eyes wide, black disks. Her mouth was turned up into a predatory grin; her eyes sparkled with the reflected glow of the bead.

Frodo nodded slowly, in answer to her question.

"Frodo, you must heed Lorelei's council. Do you understand?" she said huskily.

Frodo nodded slowly, his blue eyes half-mast as the lull of Lorelei's voice and the vision of the bead filled his mind.

"Frodo, do not trust your companions. They want only the Ring. They will take It for themselves," she said softly.

Frodo's left hand moved possessively to his neck and he clutched the ring within his fist. "No, It is mine...mine alone," he said dreamily.

"One will take It from you, someone that you trust. Someone that you thought sought only to help you and aid you, but secretly craves YOUR RING," she said encouraging Frodo's paranoia.

"No... Mine. I will not give It up," he gasped, a sudden pain gripped his chest.

"They will act as if they are concerned for your health and welfare. They will bring you medicines, especially bitter ones, food and drink. You must not take it. It is poisonous. A slow poison courses through your veins even as we speak. They have been slowly poisoning you since Rivendell. Do you understand, Frodo?"

Frodo's body, drenched in sweat, twitched as he fought this idea. His face twisted in confusion and skepticism.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND, FRODO?" Lorelei dipped her staff imperceptibly and Frodo cried out in pain.

"Yes...yes, I understand, Milady," he screeched.

"Frodo, look into my eyes," Lorelei commanded softly. Frodo's eyes met Lorelei's and he could not look away. Her eyes were as two black beads filled with a fierce, penetrating orange flame that seemed to reach deep within his soul, robbing him of any feelings of warmth or love. In their place the dark tendrils of doubt, despair and paranoia were kindled.

"Frodo. The tea in front of you is a medicinal blend made just for you by your Strider. Please drink it. Drink it all, it is good for you," she ordered.

Frodo took the cup and peered deeply into the contents. He looked at it skeptically until suddenly he tossed it to the floor, the cup shattering. "I cannot. When I look upon it I feel nauseous," he said sadly. Lorelei smiled triumphantly.

"Frodo. Sam baked these seed cakes with only you in mind. Eat, you are too thin, my friend," she tempted.

Frodo took a cake and stared long and hard at it. He was so hungry, but the cake was moldy and covered in maggots. He turned away in disgust. "It is rotten," he gasped, swallowing his gorge.

"All food and drink. All medicines are this way, Frodo. You will surely die if you partake of them," she said sonorously. "Do you understand?"

Frodo's eyes closed slowly. "Yes, I think I do," he replied hesitantly, his voice quavering.

Lorelei was not completely satisfied with the tone and phrasing of Frodo's reply, especially the tentatively spoken word "think", but decided it was perhaps, the best she was to get and proceeded to her next 'factual'. "You can only trust Lorelei. She is your friend and cares deeply for your well-being. Do you understand?" she asked.

Frodo nodded slowly, his brows knit together as if he were puzzled or had forgotten something important and was concentrating very hard to try and remember what it had been. Lorelei too, frowned. She tipped her staff towards the hobbit. Frodo gasped and clutched at his broken arm. His gaze drifted to the limb as it gushed bright red blood, the bones poking raggedly from the swollen skin. Bile rose in his throat and he looked away. When next he looked back, the arm appeared as it should and he stared at it in confusion.

"Frodo, do you trust only your Lorelei?" she asked fervently.

Fear clutched at Frodo. Fear of yet more pain if he were to answer wrongly. His eyes filled with tears as they gazed unblinking into Lorelei's hard, unsympathetic ones. He swallowed slowly, "Yes...I trust Lorelei," he whispered. Again, she noted the missing "only" but was becoming weary subjecting the hobbit to the constant control. She was afraid if she tarried to long in the enslavement and breaking of the ringbearer, she would be unable to retain her appearance and that of her surroundings. If only she had him in front of her physically she would have had him begging for a mere word from her. She would have had him groveling on the floor before her like a dog being beaten by its master. She grinned at the thought. She looked at the quivering, perspiring being before her. He was obviously in agony. The 'food' he had eaten was not, after all, real nor was the tea, so he was still starving and dehydrated. She felt nothing as she looked on him except greed, desire and jealousy. Soon the ring would be hers to wield. In time she would, of course, relinquish it to Sauron, but now she only wished to feel it on her finger, feel the power as it coursed through her. All would bow before her, and those who would not, would pay a bitter price for their treason. The ringbearer would have served his purpose and if his injuries did not slowly and agonizingly kill him, she would show him the true meaning of "trust and friendship."

"And you will not trust the Gray Wizard, Gandalf, will you?" Frodo groaned and writhed before her. "I am only protecting your own best interests, Frodo," Her eyes gleamed with pure evil as she knelt down by the hobbit where he lay quivering on the floor at her feet. "Saruman is your only, true friend. Take the ring to him and by his omnipotent wisdom that he alone possesses, he will guide you and lead you to do the right thing for all of Middle Earth.

Frodo began to cough harshly, clutching his broken arm to his chest. A thick line of bloody saliva pooled next to his face on the cold floor. He struggled to draw a breath, but was unable to find the room in his fluid filled lungs.

"Will you trust Gandalf or will you trust Saruman The Wise?" Lorelei asked sweetly.

Frodo looked up into the blackened eyes but saw only the lovely maiden, so complete was his trance. He knew, deep down, that something was very, very wrong but his thoughts were sluggish and foggy, only registering the fact that a question had been asked and, if not answered soon, for some reason his body would, once again, scream in agony. He struggled to remember what the question had been but a loud buzzing had begun to fill his senses and he found coherent thought and reason beyond him. As the last of his air was running out and he realized he was about to die, he felt a calmness and peace he had not thought possible since the ring. 'Finally the pain and worry will end and I'll be free,' he thought. Despite his agony, a small smile touched his lips.

************************************************************************

"Strider! Help him!!" Sam screamed. At once all of the sleeping company was on their feet and rushing towards the struggling hobbit. Even as Strider approached he could see that Frodo's arms and body were beginning to quiet and he dove forward, grabbing the hobbit, bending him over his lap and, with a cupped hand, he delivered several blows to the narrow back. A putrid, viscous, fluid oozed from Frodo's slack lips. Frodo had stopped struggling altogether now, his face and lips a dusky blue while his eyes were glazed over, unseeing. Aragorn knew Frodo was all but dead but would not concede defeat as yet. He increased the strength of his strikes and lowered Frodo so that his head hung down towards the floor. More of the bloody mucous drained from his mouth and finally a small whimper, followed by the sound of a ragged breath being drawn, caused Aragorn to still his fists. He began to pull Frodo back up but the small body convulsed, and blood tinged mucus spewed forth. Sam was instantly there wiping Frodo's mouth as he wiped his own tears on his sleeve. Aragorn rolled Frodo slowly over and sucked in a slow breath. Frodo's mouth was open in a silent scream; his pain too great to articulate. Tears flowed freely down his face as he looked up into the ranger's face.

"Help...me...please," he gasped.

"Yes Frodo, I will do all I can, my small friend," Aragorn whispered. He turned to the rest of the group. "I need the fire to be built up and several pans of hot water put on to boil. Boromir, do you and Legolas think you could rig something to help block the wind and hold the heat into this room?" Both nodded and briskly moved away. "Gandalf, I need some cloth to wrap his chest in and then more to make a mustard plaster out of."

Gandalf nodded. "You shall have it. Aragorn, how bad is this sickness? Can you save him?" The wizard asked, concerned.

"It is very serious, but I believe with some nourishment, proper medicinal treatments and some much needed rest, we can save Frodo," Aragorn said slowly. Gandalf smiled slightly, reassured, and strode off in search of cloth.

"I will chop more fuel," Gimli said as he hefted the axe and strode outside to the stack of downed trees left by the entrance.

"Sam, please heat water for tea and reheat the broth from earlier." Sam hesitated, not really wanting to leave Frodo's side for fear of what might happen in his absence. Aragorn saw the concern and frustration that lined the gardener's face. He turned to Merry who was already at his side.

"I'll do it, Sam," he said with a quick smile to Aragorn. Sam smiled his thanks as Merry moved to the fire. Sam jumped up to retrieve his bag in case there was something from within that would be of use. Aragorn watched as Sam became involved in a heated debate with Gandalf and admired the hobbit's bravery at confronting the wizard.

"I want to help too. What can I do, Strider?" Pippins clear voice piped.

Aragorn turned and smiled into the concern filled green eyes as they looked up into his. "Pippin, have you ever made a mustard plaster?" he asked gently.

"Aye, I have. I was always sick with pneumonia, usually at Yule, it seemed," he grinned. "And the healer always wrapped my chest in those," he wrinkled his nose. "Smelly and hot, as I remember. Well, one time I was really bored and tired of being sick so Phinea, our healer, showed me how she made them. I made a small one with her, and an awful mess as well, if I remember right," he grinned up at Aragorn. Aragorn could not resist a grin in return. Picturing the Took involved in making a mess was not that difficult. He pointed to his pack.

"Bring me my pack, Pippin, and let's see what you remember," he said. Pippin scurried to the bag and dragged it back over to Aragorn. He looked into Frodo's eyes, gently moving the sweaty hair out of his cousin's face. Frodo slowly closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in rapid pants.

"He's awful hot, Strider," Pippin said in alarm.

Aragorn was rummaging through the healer's pouch as he looked up. "He is very sick, Pippin. We need to get his fever down but first we need to ease his breathing so he can rest and recover a bit. You and I are going to make a mustard plaster to help loosen up his chest," he said, pulling out two or three pouches and setting them on the floor. When Aragorn opened the first pouch, the acrid odor of ground mustard wafted into the cave, making all who were near by tear and cough. Pippin retrieved one of Sam's small bowls and Aragorn measured out the mustard. To this mixture he also added a small amount of red pepper and water. He mixed the concoction until he had a smooth paste.

Gandalf strode over to the trio, wide strips of one of Sam's nightshirts in his hands. "Sam insisted on tearing these cloths from his own nightshirt," he said with a grin.

Sam was at the wizard's heels and blushed upon overhearing the comment. "It's only fittin' that I should want to help Mr. Frodo after all he's done for me," Sam muttered. He knelt down next to his Master.

"Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo, me dear, can ya hear me, sir?" he whispered anxiously. Frodo's eyes fluttered slowly open and he looked up into Sam's. Sam took his Master's left hand and smiled gamely. "We've got yer broth all ready soon as Mr. Pippin and Mr. Strider get you all fixed up," he murmured. Gently, he smoothed a sweaty lock from his Master's eyes. Frodo slowly closed his eyes with a slight nod that he had heard. Slowly, Aragorn laid Frodo face down on the blankets and began to uncover the hobbit's back. He unwound the bindings about the fractured ribs and hissed at the multiple bruises that he saw. Legolas came over and squatted down at Frodo's head. He glanced from the battered back up into Aragorn's guilt ridden face.

"There was nothing else you could have done, Estel. Frodo would have surely died if we had not had a healer with such a fast reaction time and to know that blows were necessary in order to enable him to breathe again.

Aragorn gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. "It is barbarism to have to use such force on one who is so gravely injured," he growled. Legolas knew his friend very well and also knew that to discuss the matter further would not change Aragorn's mind, so he held his tongue. He, instead, retrieved a bowl of warm water and produced three athelas leaves, handing them to Aragorn. Aragorn smiled gratefully at Legolas as he broke the leaves and whispered the sacred words. Lovingly, he wet a flannel, wrung it out, and washed Frodo's back. He lifted him into his arms and continued to lave the front. Frodo's breathing eased somewhat, and the perpetual frown upon his forehead, relaxed. A small cough and then a weak sigh issued from his lips. Aragorn smiled down at the ringbearer who was obviously, enjoying the warmth and scent of the healing plant. Sam held out a small towel, which Aragorn received with another smile of thanks, and he gently dried the damp skin. He turned to Gandalf and retrieved the first strip of nightshirt, which he wound about Frodo's chest. He lay Frodo back onto the blankets and spread the other cloth over the first. Using one of Sam's wooden spoons he slowly and with great tenderness, applied the paste over the cloth. The rest of the material was then folded up and over the plaster, holding it in place. A heavier cloth was wrapped about Frodo to hold in the heat of the mustard. Aragorn sighed. "We will need to check it occasionally to make sure it is not too hot for his skin. I would like to leave it in place all night, if possible.

Sam rose and fetched the broth that he poured into a short cup. Aragorn sniffed it appreciatively. It smells delicious, Sam. But I want you to add this and just a pinch of this, and don't get it in your eyes," he instructed, handing Sam the red pepper and the garlic.

"Garlic? The red pepper, aye, I can see that it makes a cold a mite better what with all the running of the nose and all, but I never heard much about garlic 'cept in stews," he said skeptically.

"Garlic swallows are an age old treatment for infection. It is a powerful aid against almost any ailment. Since Frodo won't be chewing, chop it extra fine and press it firmly against the side of the cup before pushing it into the liquid," Aragorn instructed. "Pippin would you place these three herbs into a cup for tea, please?" He handed small amounts of the chosen leaves to Pippin. Pippin sniffed at the odd looking flowers and wrinkled leaves. He frowned.

"He'll never drink this; it smells awful," he said. Legolas chuckled and continued to finger comb Frodo's hair.

"I know," Aragorn said, frowning. "I wish we had something to sweeten it with," he mused.

"Oh, aye, I brought some, uh...," Sam looked quickly at Pippin and then looked down.

Aragorn and Legolas looked at him waiting for him to finish what he was going to say.

"Some what, Sam?" Pippin asked, his eyes lighting up expectantly.

"'Jes never you mind...sir...it's only for in case Mr. Frodo shoulda wanted it," Sam said with a huff.

"Pippin?" Pippin looked around at Aragorn.

"Hmm?"

"The tea, please," Aragorn said, pointing towards the fire.

"Oh...sorry, Strider," Pippin said, abashed.

"Come, Master Took, you wouldn't want to delay your cousin from feeling better now would you?" Gandalf asked as he expertly guided the chattering hobbit to the fire.

"All right Sam, what were you about to say now that Pippin's gone?" Aragorn asked, smiling.

Sam leaned close to Aragorn and Legolas and, after a quick look over his shoulder, whispered "I brought a few pieces of candied ginger 'cause I know it's one o' Mr. Frodo's favorites," he said smiling.

Legolas smiled as Aragorn slowly shook his head, a large grin on his face. "How do you do it, Sam?" Sam looked confused. "How do you always know what he will need or want?" Aragorn asked.

Sam blushed. "It's naught more than jus' bein' prepared, is all." He looked at them, embarrassed. "I likes ta put all sorts o' useful things in me pack and then when Mr. Frodo mutters about needin' this or needin' that, I brings it out. I like the look he gives me, like I was the smartest and most useful hobbit in all of Middle Earth. It makes me feel, well, *needed* and kinda special like. I want ta make sure that Mr. Frodo is never sorry I followed after him so I gots ta' prove my worth," Sam said with a firm nod.

Legolas glanced over at Aragorn who was staring at Sam, stunned. "Sam, you could do absolutely nothing except keep Frodo company and be his friend and he would appreciate you *just* as much. He values your friendship greatly, surely you know that?" Legolas said.

"Well, I suppose, but I still likes for him to think I've thought of everything. I bes' go get the ginger afore Mr. Pippin gets curious about what's in me pack," Sam said and rose quickly.

After he was gone, they heard a murmured "I don't deserve him. He is my best friend and I don't deserve the care and kindness he showers and smothers me with."

Legolas started and looked down at the ringbearer. "Frodo, you overheard our little conversation?" Aragorn leaned over and saw that Frodo's eyes were moist, but there was a small smile on his lips. Aragorn smiled slowly back at him.

"Yes, but you are not to tell him," he whispered. "Do we understand each other Legolas? Strider? Part of what I think brings Sam such joy is his ability to look like he has 'visions' about what I'll want. If he knew that I knew, it would ruin all his fun," he said. His eyes slowly closed, the brief conversation having drained his limited energies.

Sam returned, holding a small bag, while Pippin was still distracted squashing the garlic into the soup cup. He dropped two small pieces of the candied ginger into the tea. Slowly, Aragorn raised Frodo to lean against his chest. Legolas swirled the tea and then brought it to Frodo's lips.

"Frodo? Frodo, you need to drink this tea. It will make you feel much better, Aragorn assures me," Legolas said, grinning at Aragorn. Frodo's eyes slowly cracked open.

"Tea?" It sounded marvelous; he was so thirsty. And Sam would have been pleased that he was also desperately hungry and would now take the proffered food items he so carefully prepared. But the spell Lorelei had cast over him was so complete that the thought of drinking the tea or eating the rotten food items, for this is how he now perceived them, caused his throat to clench and his stomach to roll. "No...No tea." he rasped. In addition Frodo's brain still registered that tea and food would cause him to suffer great agony for that is what always happened while with Lorelei. He did not remember the staff and Lorelei smiling vindictively down at him as he writhed on the floor of the room, only that to accept anything from his companions would cause the stabbing pain in both his arm and hip.

"Frodo, you must drink the tea and sip the broth. You are severely dehydrated and undernourished. Your body will be unable to fight off the infection if you do not eat or take your medicine," Aragorn said frowning. He looked into Frodo's eyes and frowned. The ringbearer seemed to be in some sort of trance. He waved his hand back and forth in front of Frodo's eyes, but the hobbit did not blink he only continued to stare off seemingly in some other world.

"No. Can't... can't take the pain any longer. She said...she said... poisoned... since Rivendell," he said dreamily.

"Did he say poisoned?" Aragorn gasped. Legolas nodded slowly.

"No Mr.Frodo, we would never do such a thing. We're your friends and are trying to make you better. You jes' gotta drink the tea or you'll not get cured," Sam said anxiously, sure that his Master had misunderstood them.

Frodo's eyes widened and Aragorn could feel the hobbit's heartbeat increase alarmingly. Tears began to flow from Frodo's eyes and Aragorn shushed him softly. "Easy Frodo, easy. Do not upset yourself or you will begin to cough again. I understand that you hate the tonics I press on you and that they are sometimes bitter or distasteful, but you have never used the word 'poisoned' before. I assure you they are quite safe and the broth very tasty," he said gently.

All the members of the fellowship had gathered about him after hearing Sam's exclamation. They wore looks of confusion and concern, wondering what had caused the drastic change in Frodo's behavior. Aragorn tried once more to press the cup to Frodo's lips but the ringbearer weakly turned his head away. He began to sob knowing that if he drank the tea he would be in agony. But he was so very thirsty and the broth smelled heavenly. His stomach growled, not certain if the food was as it smelled or if it was riddled with maggots and decay. As he wavered he was suddenly engulfed with excruciating pain. His arm and legged screamed in agony and throbbed in rhythm with his quickening pulse. He gasped; amazed that any living thing could withstand such agony. He struggled, trying to move away from the faces that were drawing closer and surrounding him. Aragorn, alarmed at the unexpected reactions and the obvious distress of the ringbearer, tightened his hold around Frodo's chest, speaking words of comfort to try still the writhing ringbearer. But Frodo was like a frightened animal and only struggled more frantically against his captors. The faces leering down at him transformed into hideous beasts, drool dripping from their mouths over rotten teeth as they closed in on him, hungry looks in their eyes.

Aragorn was aghast at the terror that Frodo seemed to be experiencing as his friends approached him in concern. Frodo seemed oblivious to everything but escaping the fellowship. Aragorn looked up and waved the rest of the group back trying to cease the struggle of the hobbit. They looked on in pity as they moved back towards the fire. They watched silently as Aragorn tried once again to get the hobbit to drink the tea. Frodo turned away shouting, "Stay back...I will not let you take it .... It is mine, mine alone." He managed to slip out from under Aragorn's arm and scoot slowly away from his comrades. He was panting, his face a pasty white, his eyes darting fearfully around the room. His uninjured arm shook violently as he put all of his weight on it and tried to pull himself to safety.

"This is outrageous. Where would you get such an outlandish idea, Frodo Baggins?" Gandalf bellowed. Frodo jumped and cringed backwards even further.

"Gandalf, please, be at peace," Aragorn said, giving the wizard a warning look.

"I am sorry if I scared you Frodo," Gandalf said as he knelt down at eye level with the hobbit. "You just took me by surprise, is all. Here, give me the cup Aragorn," he said, reaching for the cup. The wizard moved towards Frodo slowly. Frodo looked desperately around but could find no means of escape, his back pressed firmly against the cave wall. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he kicked frantically at the wizard. Aragorn had been waiting for such a distraction and grabbed the terrified ringbearer, pressing his arms to his side while Sam grabbed and held his legs down. Frodo twisted and writhed, his eyes wild as he gasped for air. Gandalf brought the cup to Frodo's mouth while Legolas pinched the hobbit's nose closed. Frodo struggled even harder and set his mouth in a firm line. But his body was desperate for air and when he opened his mouth to take a breath, Gandalf moved in quickly, pouring in the tea. Aragorn reached up and held the hobbit's mouth closed as he blew a breath into Frodo's face. Frodo had little recourse but to swallow. Aragorn released his hold on Frodo's jaw allowing the hobbit to pull in a harsh breath. A coughing fit followed and they paused until Frodo began to inhale harshly. Again the procedure was repeated with Gandalf pouring the tea and then the broth into the hobbit's mouth until, at last, both of the cups were emptied.

Aragorn called to Merry to retrieve a small jar with a gold lid, from his pack. Merry quickly found the desired jar and opened it for Aragorn. A gray paste lay within. "I was hoping I would not have further need of this," Aragorn muttered. He dipped his finger into the paste pulling up a small glob. "Merry, open Frodo's mouth, and mind the teeth, he might try to bite you. Frodo threw his head violently back and forth trying to avoid his cousin. Legolas grabbed Frodo's head and held it still while Merry pried open the clenched jaw. Merry looked deep into Frodo's terrified eyes but there was not even a glimmer of recognition there, only desperation.

Aragorn smeared the paste on the inside of Frodo's cheek then forced the mouth shut, waiting for him to swallow. At a nod to Legolas, the elf pinched Frodo's nose closed. Frodo stared up at Legolas, his eyes pleading, as he struggled. At last he swallowed and Aragorn released him. They held him until he began to relax, the drug slowly taking effect. At last he stilled and Aragorn placed him gently back onto his bed. No one spoke, all to dumbfounded by the display.

"I fear something or someone is influencing our dear friend. This could be most disastrous for Frodo and for the quest. I fear for him. I believe if this continues Frodo will soon be unable to discern friend from foe and eventually, the conflict and uncertainty will drive him insane." The wizard spoke slowly as he sat besides the hobbit and watched as Frodo fought against the effects of the drug. His motions quelled and he sagged back against the bedding. "I fear for you my friend. I fear for all of us," Gandalf said quietly.

To be continued-


	7. Trust Not One Night's Ice

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

I apologize for it taking me so long to update. RL has been frantic. I will do my best to update sooner, but be warned, I am in a real pile of do-do with my other activities so please, please be patient with me....and thanks as always, for being such devoted readers.

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

Chapter 7

Trust Not One Night's Ice

"Trust not one night's ice" Jacula Prudentum, 1651 page 453; George Herbert 1593-1633;

He crept into the main room of the cave and looked in horror at the carnage that was spread before him. The coppery smell of blood saturated the air and Frodo covered his nose and mouth with his cloak. The Fellowship was laid out, some in piles; others sprawled haphazardly on the cavern's floor. He could not focus in on specific members seeing only a foot here or boot there sticking out at various angles amidst the melee. He was breathing hard as panic took hold and he shot frightened glances around the common room.

"You did this. You are responsible for bringing about their deaths..." came an oddly familiar voice. Frodo gasped, scanning the room frantically looking for the speaker.

"Who are you? Why have you wrought this inexplicable horror on people who were only helping me to carry my burden? Show yourself!" He cried. Tears streamed unabated down his face as hoarse sobs escaped his throat. "How could you do this?" He wept.

"I? I did nothing. I tried to warn you but you chose to trust your friends instead," Lorelei materialized in a darkened corner. "I warned you, Frodo." She whispered then she slowly faded until all that was left was the cave wall.

"No. Come back! Please, help me!" Frodo called, falling to his knees, devastated by the loss of his friends. Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf... they were all gone. All dead. 'But wait," he thought. 'Someone in the fellowship must be responsible for this atrocity.' He scanned the bodies once again, seeking the one body absent from the carnage, knowing that that person had to be the one who had killed his friends. But he found he could not separate out the individual members amongst the dead. And every time he tried to approach them closer, some obstacle would mysteriously block his way. First, it was a huge boulder then a crevasse opened up before him.

"Who did this?" he shouted in frustration.

"You did, Frodo. You did this. You did this. You did this," the voice, not Lorelei's, chanted childishly. A malevolent cackling followed the chanting. "Froooodo?" The voice came from behind him. He swung around, looking into every dark corner at once. "Frooodo?" Now the voice came from the caves mouth. Evil laughter filled the room. "I have It, Frodo," the voice whispered. Frodo clutched at his throat, but the Ring and its chain, were no longer there.

"It's mine. Give it back!" Frodo screeched.

"Give it back! Give it back!" the voice mocked. "If only you had left and taken the Ring to Lorelei or Saruman, none of this would have happened. Now the Ring is mine. Mine alone to wield and command to do whatever I want It to. It's mine, Frodo. I killed them for It and now I shall never be parted from It," the voice taunted.

"Show yourself. I must know who you are," Frodo cried.

"Someone you trusted; someone who was so very close to you. Someone you could never be parted from," the voice chanted. A figure stood in the furthest, darkest corner from Frodo, near the bodies of his friends, a dripping sword still clutched in his hand. Frodo could see the sword clearly. It was Sting and the dripping substance was the Fellowship's blood, which had been so gleefully shed. He could not make out the murderer and rage filled him, making him stronger and braver.

"Show yourself! He screamed.

The figure merely laughed and chanted over and over, "You did it...you did it...you did it..."

Frodo covered his ears. "Who are you?"

"Someone you least suspected," he whispered wickedly. "Someone you trusted...trusted...trusted..." The voice was growing fainter, the sword and the body melting into the shadows as Frodo gaped in confused amazement.

"No! I must know!" he screamed and hurled himself over the crevasse, hoping to capture the phantasm before it escaped. But the opening widened as he catapulted himself forward and then he was falling, falling into a perfectly black abyss; forever to fall, haunted and bereft of answers; the image of his friends' ravaged bodies burned into his memory, always to wonder who the assassin's true identity had been.

"Noooooo!!!!! Frodo screamed. He lurched awake as Aragorn materialized at his side. He was panting as if he had run a great race and began to cough harshly as his lungs seized at the sudden activity. Aragorn brought the tea to his lips and pressed him into drinking. His mind was racing over all that he had just experienced and he tried to move away from the ranger.

"No, Frodo. It is only I. You've had a very nasty dream, by the sound of it. Would you like to talk about it?" Aragorn asked quietly. No one else had been roused by Frodo's cries, a testament to the total exhaustion of the Fellowship.

Frodo's eyes darted about, counting each of the blanketed, slumbering bundles. Sam moaned and rolled over, as Pippin curled deeper into Merry's side, covering his face with his blanket. Frodo's eyes cut back to Aragorn, filled with fear and suspicion.

"No...no, I cannot," he stammered, inching backwards.

"Frodo, you must drink your tea and broth," Aragorn said firmly.

"No. I do not want it, thank you anyway," Frodo said as he swallowed nervously.

Aragorn smiled at the gentlehobbit's polite refusal. "You've been drinking it throughout the night, my friend, and are still with us. Obviously it is not poisoned, as you thought."

Frodo's eyes widened. Vaguely he remembered being forced to drink the first cups of tea and broth and of Aragorn smearing something bitter on the inside of his mouth. The rest of the night was but a blur of being awoken frequently as someone had fed him. He had tried to resist but whatever Aragorn had given him had made him weak and his limbs heavy and he had only been able to struggle drunkenly against him. As the night had worn on he had finally ceased resisting, knowing Aragorn could easily subdue and force him to take the medicine and soup anyway. He stared hard at Aragorn.

"I...you drugged me," he said, stupefied.

"Yes Frodo, I had to in order to get you to take your medicine and to get you to rest. You must have the doses every hour. Frodo, you have pneumonia. If you do not drink the tea the infection will claim you," Aragorn said sternly.

"So you say," Frodo replied, a bit sarcastically.

"So I know, Mr. Baggins," thundered Aragorn, an angry glint in his eyes.

A wet cough sprung suddenly from the Ringbearer and he clutched his chest as his broken ribs ground together. Aragorn reached out to him but Frodo flinched away. Each time he moved stabbing pains went through his body from his various wounds.

"Stay back!" he cried. Aragorn's eyes flickered first with hurt then concern. "I will tell you of my dream if only to make you understand better my misgivings," Frodo panted harshly. Aragorn nodded and crouched down a few paces away trying to make the hobbit more at ease. Frodo swallowed thickly. "I was in a cave," he looked about him as tears filled his eyes. "This cave," he whispered. "You were all dead. Blood was everywhere," he sobbed. Again Aragorn made to reach out to him, to reassure him, but Frodo's frightened look stopped him. "Someone had killed everyone in the Fellowship, although I did not know who." He gulped and Aragorn gave him a cup of water. Frodo looked warily at the cup. He was parched but could not bring himself to drink of it. Aragorn brought the cup to his own lips and drank as Frodo watched. He then handed the cup to Frodo who took it with a shaky hand. He spilled a good part of it, his hand trembling as it was, but finally brought the remainder to his mouth and drank greedily.

"More?" Aragorn asked softly. Frodo nodded and the procedure was repeated. When he had received three cups, he continued his tale.

"I asked out loud 'Who did this?' and a voice said, 'you did. You did this.'" Aragorn looked confused. "It said 'By your actions, you have destroyed them all.'" Frodo's voice wavered as tears fell from his blue eyes.

"I do not understand, Frodo. By what actions?" Aragorn asked.

"I cannot elaborate at this time, but will tell you only of the dream," Frodo whispered. Aragorn looked perplexed but nodded for Frodo to continue. "The voice said that it was someone in the Fellowship, someone I trusted and someone who cared for me. I tried to get closer to the bodies to see who was missing from the group, knowing then that I would know who had been seduced by the Ring to do...to do this horrible thing," he wept. "But every time I moved towards the dead something would appear in my path keeping me from them. A figure was hidden in the shadows of the cave and it laughed a horrible, evil laugh at me, taunting me with riddles and goading me on. I could not see who it was, only that he held a sword that dripped with the blood of my kin and friends," Frodo was weeping uncontrollably by now and Aragorn's heart clinched in pity, knowing that he would not be allowed to extend even the smallest comfort to the hobbit. "I asked why he would do such a thing and he said 'I did not do this...you did, Frodo.' Then he said 'I have It, Frodo. It is mine now.' I felt at my neck and the Ring was gone. This person, whoever he was, now had It...had killed everyone just to claim It for himself." He looked sadly over at Aragorn, his eyes wells of grief and dread and Aragorn could not help but take a step closer to him. Frodo held up his hand to stop the ranger, and Aragorn stepped back to where he had been, feeling mounting frustration.

"So you see, Aragorn, I do not know whom to trust any longer," he said tiredly.

"But Frodo this dream just happened. What of yesterday and your behavior then? This is not the first time you have shown distrust towards the Fellowship," the ranger pressed.

Frodo gulped and looked away remembering Lorelei's admonishments of not to tell anyone of her presence. "That is something I cannot speak of," he said quietly.

Aragorn sighed in frustration. "Frodo it was but a dream and should be thought of perhaps, at most, as a warning for you to be on your guard, but nothing more. I have not sensed any form of deception within the Fellowship as yet, and I will help you, as will Gandalf, to watch each member more carefully."

At the mention of the wizard's name, Frodo's head shot up. "But Aragorn, if I do not know whom to trust then how can I be certain I can trust you or Gandalf?" he stammered. At the hurt look in the ranger's eyes he added "I want to trust you...all of you, but doubts have been planted and now I see conspiracies everywhere."

"Then you must trust yourself...here." Aragorn reached over and gently tapped Frodo's chest.

Frodo's face showed confusion and frustration. "Then I would trust *everyone* and I can not do that. I need to think more about this but I am so very tired," he said weakly.

"Then you should eat, take your medicine and rest," Aragorn said firmly and rose to retrieve the broth. "I will taste them so that you will be comforted knowing that they are not tainted," he said as he walked away.

Frodo's head swam as he tried to watch Aragorn's movements closely. He was no longer tired as his mind looked upon the darkened form of the ranger pouring the soup into the cup. It was very dark and he could just make out Aragorn's outline. The ranger's sword glinted with the dimming firelight and Frodo suddenly saw, through his pain fogged brain, the image of it dripping with the blood of those he loved as the ranger massacred his friends and kin came unbidden to Frodo's mind. Frodo reached behind and to the side of his bedroll, desperately seeking his belongings. At last he laid his hand on Sting and pulled the blade towards him. The scramble for his sword was not without a price. He groaned as first his hip then his arm registered his movements, the pain lancing through his thinning body. After Frodo had retrieved the elven blade he sat back against the cave wall, trying to catch his breath and willing the vertigo and nausea away. He knew that were he to pass out or begin to retch that he would be at Aragorn's mercy. He realized with dismay, that he had tipped his hand by telling the dream to the ranger and that if the tea or broth had not been poisoned before, it most assuredly would be now. He gulped and bit the inside of his mouth hard, drawing blood, forcing the haze filling his vision, to recede. Aragorn knelt and Frodo watched, mouth agape and gaze transfixed, as the ranger chose something from his pack and added it to the tea. So it is true, he thought to himself. He is trying to poison me after all. He breaths came more rapidly now as adrenaline rushed through his veins. But his lungs were ill equipped to handle the extra workload and he began to hack, then choke as wet bubbles instead of oxygen rich air filled his lungs.

Aragorn crossed to him in two strides and reached out to pull him against him in an attempt to ease his breathing. Frodo grabbed his elven blade and, with the last of his strength, and placed Sting's point firmly against Aragorn's chest, his eyes tearing as he tried valiantly not to lose consciousness. "No further," he croaked.

Aragorn's face shown shock as he slowly raised his hands to show that he was no threat.

"What's all the racket?' came a plaintive moan from Frodo's right. Frodo continued to hold the sword awkwardly, in his left hand; it's point now at the ranger's throat. Aragorn moved back a pace but Frodo did not lower the blade, which trembled violently in his outstretched hand. Frodo's eyes fluttered, the room darkened and pitched sickeningly, as he struggled to retain the upper hand in the contest of wills.

"Mr. Frodo? Frodo? What are you doin', sir?" came a small, frightened voice. Frodo shot a quick glance towards his gardener, seeing a wide-awake Samwise staring back at him.

"Sam..move oer to Argorn's side, please," Frodo mumbled drunkenly.

"Sir? He's your friend, sir! You can't be meanin' what yer doin' here. Have you lost yer mind?" Sam shouted at him and made to take the sword. Frodo swung the sword, feebly, towards Sam and then again back towards Aragorn, panic suffusing his features.

"Gentlemen, what is all the ruckus about?" Gandalf asked as he approached the trio. "Oh, I see," he murmured. Frodo moved frantically, swinging the sword in an arc between himself and the three concerned friends.

"Sam? Do as he says," Aragorn said softly.

Sam looked incredulous at the ranger. "But Strider..." he objected.

"Move Sam...slowly so as not to alarm Frodo further," Aragorn said, his eyes never leaving Frodo's face. Sam moved slowly to Strider's side and stared worriedly across at his master. Gandalf stood behind them and gazed with concern at the hobbit. Frodo coughed again and groaned as the pain caused his chest to tighten and arm to jostle. He bit down hard on his lip trying to bring clarity to his fogged brain. It helped somewhat but his vision was still oddly dark and a dull roar filled his ears. His thoughts became more and more muddled but he stubbornly held his place.

"I saa ...you. I sa' you put...somethin' in the tea," Frodo garbled. "Wass it you? Wass it you in my dream?" he slurred.

"No Frodo, it was not I in your dream. I could never act thus, I promise you. Lower the sword, Frodo. You are taxing your energies far to greatly. Lower Sting and I promise you we will not come any closer. In fact," Aragorn looked about him, "if you lower the sword we will all move back a pace. We will make no move towards you. Please Frodo. I fear for you health, my friend. Please save your remaining strength and we will talk," Aragorn plead to the Ringbearer. Tears stood in his eyes as he watched the fierce struggle within the hobbit. Frodo nodded imperceptibly and they all moved back. The sword arm sank boneless into his lap as his head fell forward briefly, onto his chest. He slowly raised his eyes and studied them. Blood ran down his chin from his bitten lip and his face was covered in a heavy dew of perspiration. Each breath, painfully taken, could be heard throughout the cave.

"You pu' somethin' in my tea. I saw you, Argor'," he mumbled.

"Yes Frodo. I did. I added some dried Valerian so that you would sleep. I am sorry for the deception but you were much too worried and frightened about the dream to rest properly. And you need your rest, Frodo, now more than ever. You need to keep taking the tea to rid your body of the infection and the broth to strengthen you so you can heal. You must trust us, Frodo. There is no one, no one that will harm you or any of the Fellowship while I draw breath," Strider said, his voice husky with emotion as he locked eyes with his friend, the Ringbearer.

"I don' know who to trus' any longer and I am so ver' frighten'," Frodo whispered, tears filling his eyes and running down his face. "I nee'time 'lone...to think."

"Frodo, you are much to ill to be alone just now. Please listen to Aragorn. We are not your enemies. We are your friends and have been for many long years. You must trust us," Gandalf urgently whispered.

"I wann' to, I truly do, but I canno', not...until I thin' on thiss some more. I am sorry, so sorry," he sobbed. Frodo's voice had become very faint and they watched in horror as he took Sting yet again, in his left hand. He pulled himself up to sitting and began to inch along the cave wall towards the smaller alcove room. With his left hand and Sting along with his right leg he pushed himself towards the room. He made infinitesimally slow progress, his right arm remaining tightly against his chest while he drug his left leg uselessly along with him. His face was completely devoid of color as the movement shot spasms of pain through his hip, chest and arm. Sweat dripped unceasingly down his pale face and, after awhile, his eyes became glassy as his body was pushed far beyond its endurance. The friends watched helplessly until their friend was secreted within the narrow room only a mere three feet away. It had taken Frodo a hard thirty minutes to cover the short distance and Sam, at the last, had had to look away, unable to witness the agonized movements of his master. He sobbed softly and the others circled him comfortingly, trying to give him some small assurance. Sam's sobbing and the harsh gasps of Frodo's labored breaths, were the only sounds in the cave save the soft breathing of the others as they slept, undisturbed.

To be continued-


	8. "Yet, Hope Remains While the Company is True"

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

 

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

Chapter 8

"Yet Hope Remains While the Company is True"

His body performed in a perfunctory manner as his mind closed itself off completely to all sensory stimuli trying to, somehow, protect itself by building a wall between itself and the screaming agony that was the reality of the shell that bore it. Frodo had long since ceased to "be" in that physical world as he pushed his left arm and hand and his right leg to remove himself from his friends and kin. His eyes stared off, unseeing, as the limbs did their work. Shuffle...scrape...shuffle...scrape...the noises continued long after he had cleared the portal to his new home.

He barked his spine against a rough step down towards the pool that had earlier been used to bathe him, causing a small whimper to escape his lips. Thrown off balance, he slipped off of the landing and rolled towards the pool. Sparks of light peppered his vision as he collapsed onto his stomach, pinning his broken arm beneath him. Unmindful of the newly awakened pain and feeling only a blinding thirst, Frodo eagerly lapped at the pool. The faint taste of soap could still be detected but had been diluted by the steadily dripping stalactite, none of which Frodo would have noticed, so desperate was his thirst. His mind strove to create a safe haven for him to reside in while his body experienced the continued onslaught of unimaginable pain and weakness. But, at long last, it could no longer maintain the facade and chose the only way it knew of to protect its person; it shut down. A heavy gray fog filled his vision and the cave slowly dissolved into black inkiness as he collapsed besides the pool. Finally free of the ravages of body and mind, he succumbed, his cheek lying on the wet sand as his hair fanned out over the lazily moving water.

************************************************************************

The cave was eerily quiet after the drama of a few moments before except for the sound of soft sobbing coming from Merry and Pippin. Sam wrested himself angrily from Aragorn and Gandalf who released him in surprise.

"Well, arn't you goin' after him? He can't take care o' himself all alone. He's sick. He needs you," he shouted at Aragorn.

"Sam, things would be worse if I bodily forced Frodo to come out. If I make him eat and take his medicines, he will feel victimized and it would only strengthen his belief that we were trying to poison him." Aragorn sighed and grimaced at the thought of the sick hobbit a mere three feet away but, maddeningly, out of his care and what repercussions would result if Frodo did not soon come to his senses. "We will give him some time, not too much, but enough to where he can come to a decision," he added.

"Time? Mr. Frodo's a fine one for overthinkin' every little thing. I love him dearly, but this is not somethin' that needs thinkin' on. He needs to let his feelin's tell him what's what, not broodin' all alone, sick and hurt. If'n you won't do nothin' for 'em, then I will. I'll not let him die jes' because o' some dream," Sam said heatedly.

Aragorn's eyebrows shot up. "So, you overheard our discussion of his dream. You play possum most convincingly, Master Gamgee." Sam blushed furiously and looked down. "But you do have one good point, Sam. Frodo trusts you, Merry and Pippin more than any others in our group. If anyone can get him to listen, it will be you three," Aragorn said earnestly.

"I'll jes' get some things then..." Sam made to move to his pack. Aragorn reached out and took the gardener's arm.

"No Sam. Not yet. I promised Frodo I'd let him have some time to think alone, when that's done, you can go to him."

Sam wheeled on the ranger and pulled his arm free. "A lot o' good it'll do. He'll probably be dead by then," he spat furiously but his voice cracked as he said this. He tried to compose himself but his chest shuddered in a sob as he turned and stomped away carrying his overburdened pack with him.

Aragorn rose to follow but Gandalf stayed him. "Frodo is not the only one who needs time, Aragorn. Let Sam be for a while. Tell me more of this dream of Frodo's," the wizard said sadly. Aragorn recounted the dream and Frodo's fears and, ultimately, the paranoia that had caused the hobbit's pain filled departure. Gandalf listened intently, slowly puffing on his pipe as he took in all of the details. After Aragorn had finished, he rose slowly, feeling a great fatigue wash over him. "Something is influencing our friend, Aragorn. I have my suspicions, but do not wish to discuss it until I can speak further with Frodo," he said huskily.

"Who knows when that will be, my friend? He seems to distrust you most of all," Aragorn said in frustration.

"Yes, which only strengthens my suspicions. Fear not," Gandalf smiled reassuringly, "If anyone can reach our boy, it's his Sam." He patted Aragorn's shoulder then turned and went to the mouth of the cave. He tapped Legolas lightly and, after conversing shortly with the elf, took the next watch. Legolas came towards Aragorn.

"I am most distressed about this turn of events with Frodo," he said softly.

Aragorn nodded sadly. "We all are Legolas. I have told Frodo that he has only a short amount of time to collect his thoughts, then we will have to treat him or he will be lost to us."

"Perhaps some fresh meat will cheer everyone. I believe I will go for a short scout of the area, perhaps I will bring back something for Sam's stewpot," he said forcing a laugh. Aragorn smiled wanly at him.

"Thank you, my friend. Go with care, the blizzard still rages outside," Aragorn said with concern.

"I shall be careful and will return shortly. I know that you have been preoccupied with Frodo's care, but Merry and Pippin have been behaving oddly," the elf said looking over at the two huddled forms. Both were shivering and pale and Aragorn swore at himself for being neglectful of their needs, not noticing anything amiss sooner.

"Odd? How so?" he asked quietly, looking towards the duo.

"Both seem to be in some pain, but quickly mask it whenever I chance by or they see me looking their way," the elf said, turning towards Aragorn so the hobbits would not see him speaking of them.

Thank you, Legolas. I shall look into it, and happy hunting," he slapped the elf on the shoulder as Legolas bundled himself within his cloak and left the cave.

Aragorn chanced a glance towards Sam who was determinedly pounding a rock onto something. He watched for a moment, curious as to what the gardener was doing and decided finally to look into it further after checking on Merry and Pippin. He shook his head, reflecting once more, on the strange pastimes of the endearing little folk, and walked over to where Merry and Pippin sat. They were huddled together talking quietly; Pippin speaking earnestly and gesturing frequently with his hands. Aragorn noticed that both hobbits' hands were swaddled in cloth and, on further scrutiny that not only were their hands bound, but their feet as well. Knowing that hobbits aggressively resisted having their tough feet covered only intensified the ranger's interest. As he approached they quieted and looked sadly up at Aragorn.

"Gentlemen, are you well?" he asked.

"How is Frodo?" Pippin blurted, ignoring the question.

"He is currently beyond my care. But Sam has agreed, eagerly, to try his hand at convincing Frodo to eat and take his medicines," Aragorn said grimly. The hobbits relaxed slightly upon hearing this news and, surreptuously, tucked their feet underneath them. Aragorn noticed that the hands of both, visible only moments ago, were also now concealed. He knelt down next to them and extended his hand. "Pippin let me look at your hands, please." Green eyes darted towards his cousin and there was a tense moment when the ranger was sure the hobbit would resist. Merry nodded slightly and Pippin looked imploringly at Aragorn.

"You won't be angry?" he asked in a small voice.

"No, of course not, little one," Aragorn said with a smile. Pippin hesitantly extended his small hands and Aragorn carefully unwrapped them. He marveled again at how diminutive a hobbit's hands were when compared to his own. When the bindings were removed he gasped at what he saw. "Merry, please, show me your hands," he said hurriedly. Merry slowly extended his hands to the ranger and Aragorn carefully unwrapped them. He hissed again. "How long have they been like this, gentlemen?" He asked gruffly. He attempted to calm himself, remembering his promise to Pippin. But it was difficult to refrain from an elvish oath as he scrutinized the bluing fingertips. The hobbits looked at each other and said nothing. "Merry … Pippin, it is most important that you tell me," he whispered in concern.

"Well, uh...right after Frodo was brought up the mountain. What was it, Pip, three days or so?" Merry asked Pippin calmly.

"Aye, that'd be about right, Mer'." He turned to Aragorn. "We were all so worried about Frodo that we decided he needed care more than we did. We still feel that way, Strider. Frodo needs you. You shouldn't be wasting your time on us," Pippin said defiantly.

Aragorn stared at both of them, mouth agape. "You realize you could lose your fingers and unless I miss my guess, judging by the wrappings, your toes as well?" They nodded slowly. Each had grim and determined expressions on their faces.

"It matters little, Strider, if Frodo loses his life because you were busy with us and sacrificed his care to do so," said Merry stubbornly.

Again the ranger's mouth dropped open as he looked incredulously from Merry to Pippin. Pippin straightened his back and pulled his hands away from the healer. "You are both important to this Fellowship or Elrond would never have allowed you to accompany us." He leaned forward as he spoke and looked lovingly at them both. "You are needed by Frodo and have shown your worth and honor on more than one occasion. You must never think you are of lesser importance than any other member in our group just because you do not carry a deadly talisman about your neck. I fear I have failed you, by neglecting your care. Frodo would tan your hides, as well as my own, if he knew you were suffering because of some misguided belief that he was more important." Pippin and Merry both grinned picturing Frodo 'tanning Aragorn's hide'. "Frodo's care will not suffer, and neither will anyone else's while I draw breath," Aragorn said with conviction.

They looked skeptically at the future King. "We know we are of little use except as extra baggage to the Fellowship, Strider. You do not have to say otherwise just to protect our feelings," Merry murmured. "We don't cook, that's Sam's job. We don't hunt, or carry heavy burdens; Legolas, Boromir and even Gimli do all of that. We have little or no knowledge of the surrounding lands or of Sauron and his intentions. Those are areas best left to you and Gandalf. We are merely excess baggage, having no real skills or use among the Fellowship." Merry said all of this matter-of-factly, trying to keep emotion from his voice and face. But Aragorn had seen his lip quiver and Pippin's eyes had slowly filled with tears as Merry spoke. He reached over and pulled them both to him tightly. He spoke softly, worried that these two exuberant beings could think so little of themselves.

"Merry," he said gently, "Who was it that wove the ropes that pulled Frodo to safety?"

Merry and Pippin looked across Strider's lap at each other. "We did. But anyone could have done that," Merry added quietly.

"Aye, in time the ropes could have been made by another, but there was no time, Merry. And through your efforts and quick thinking you probably saved Frodo from freezing," Aragorn said patiently. "Pippin, who was it that helped prepare the mustard plaster for Frodo?" He asked softly.

"I did, but Strider I know you didn't really need my help. You could've done it all by yourself," Pippin's voice quavered.

"Aye Pippin, but you contributed your hands and heart by telling me stories of the Shire while I worked," Aragorn said quietly. "Both of you are here to remind Frodo of what he left behind. Your jokes and pranks inject much needed levity to Frodo's very dark and frightening world. The Ring has robbed him of his gaiety. It is slowly filling his mind with darkness; taking his memories of the Shire and joy of everyday things. It whispers constantly to him, day and night, of things he can have or do or be if he will but put It on his finger. He fights It all of his waking hours and It haunts him as he tries to rest; a rest he is unable to find. It has slowly stolen all desire to sleep, eat or be with his friends and kin." He stared off into space as he spoke, his voice and expression, full of grief. He looked at them and saw how pale they had both become, their eyes filled with fear for their cousin.

"What can we do, Strider? Tell us. We'll do anything to help Frodo," Pippin said earnestly. Strider smiled at him, satisfied that he was making his point.

"But Pippin, you and Merry are *already* doing things that help Frodo. You laugh. You sing and dance. Your very love of life and a good joke helps Frodo to feel joy and be able to escape that gloomy void of the ring. He smiles and laughs and, many times, I've heard him energetically speaking of people or happenings of the Shire with both of you." He smiled at their eager, upturned faces. "You give him hope, and that is more important than food, water or medicines. You will be needed even more in the coming days. Frodo has fallen into despair and he is very ill. We will need you both to talk with him and convince him to trust us all once again. It will be very tiring and emotionally draining but so very important if Frodo is to survive his injuries."

"Will he die?" Pippin asked, his voice quavering.

Strider hesitated, not wanting to upset the hobbits but also not wanting to lie to them. "He could, yes Pippin. He needs nourishment, medicines and time to heal. He has secreted himself inside the smaller cave and seems especially afraid of Gandalf and myself. He appears to still trust Sam and the both of you, to some degree, which gives us hope that he can be reached. So you see, gentlemen, you are hardly 'excess baggage' and are very much needed within our Fellowship," he said, hugging both of them to him. They squealed as he gently tickled over their ribs before releasing them.

"Did you hear that, Merry? They need us!" Pippin chirped.

Merry smiled at the ranger, "I feel much better just hearing those words, Strider."

"Of course, Merry. Everyone wants to feel needed. Speaking of need what I *need* right now are two hobbits to show me their feet," he said. Both unwrapped their feet and Strider examined the blue toes. "Can you feel anything? Do they tingle?" he asked, hoping for the correct response.

"Oh aye, they tingle all the time like they're on fire or sometimes like they've gone to sleep and are just waking back up. My fingers are a bit more numb I think, but by bedtime they hurt something awful," Pippin said. Merry nodded indicating he felt much the same way.

Aragorn picked up a small sharp stick. "Merry, look at Pippin and don't watch me. Tell me if you can feel this." Merry locked eyes with Pippin and then yelped as Aragorn poked the sharp end of the twig into one of the damaged toes.

"Strider! That hurt!" he exclaimed, gently rubbing the toe and giving Aragorn a deadly look.

Aragorn smiled. "Good. Then the damage is no irreparable." He crossed to the fire and picked up a pot of water that had been sitting off to the side. He added athelas leaves, murmuring as he did so. He crossed back to the duo and sat back down. The water was warm but not hot and he soaked rags and gently washed Merry then Pippin's hands and feet. He poured the water into two shallow pans and, bending the hobbits knees, placed their feet into the warm bath. At first, they both squirmed uncomfortably, but as their feet adjusted to the warmer water they began to relax. After their feet had soaked until they were pruney, Strider removed them from the water, dried them and, reaching into his bag, withdrew something that made both hobbits start. Socks. "These are made of wool and should keep your feet quite warm," he murmured.

"But Strider, that's why we have hair on our feet," Merry said, objecting to having to wear *anything* on the oversized appendage.

"Yes, and under normal circumstances that would be sufficient, but these are *not* normal circumstances." He looked towards the mouth of the cave where the blizzard continued, unabated. Both hobbits squirmed uncomfortably in the unfamiliar footwear.

"How are we supposed to walk? They're so big, we'll trip and fall," Pippin lamented.

Aragorn smiled. "Just wear them tonight and if your toes look somewhat better in the morning, you won't have to wear them during the day, only at night, I promise." He studied their hands with a frown. "I am afraid all we have for your hands, after they soak, is flannel bindings," he said.

"Not so, my friend." Legolas, covered so completely in snow that he looked like a living, breathing snow elf, entered the cave and held up four large snow hares. "After I skin our dinner I would be most happy to tan the hides..."Merry and Pippin giggled, the image of Frodo tanning Aragorn's hide once again being brought to mind. Legolas glanced at the three, confused. "What did I say? Did I miss something?" he asked.

Aragorn smiled and shot mock glares at both hobbits, which only made them laugh harder, then turned back to the elf. "No Legolas, you didn't miss a thing."

Legolas frowned slightly. "I could make mittens for all of the hobbits," he continued.

Aragorn smiled. "Excellent idea, Legolas. We should never have left Rivendell without warmer cloaks or, at the very least, gloves for the hobbits. Even with these leather like soles," he lifted one of Pippin's feet and tickled it until the hobbit pulled away, giggling, "Flesh is still susceptible to frostbite. For tonight, until the hides cure, we can put more socks on your hands." Merry looked mortified.

"Is that really necessary, Strider?" he whined.

"I am afraid it is, Merry. The tissue needs to be kept warm, not hot, just warm for the next few days. If they do not require amputation..."

"Amputation?" The hobbits said in unison.

"Yes, gentlemen. That is the standard treatment for frostbite." He grinned wickedly at them. "Let that be a lesson to you both to come to me next time." He ignored their panicked expressions feeling that, perhaps, this would get their attention more, wrapped the hands in warmed cloths and rose. "I am confident you will not require such drastic measures * this time* but I would not tempt fate again, young masters." He wiped the grin from his face as both hobbits nodded fiercely, and went to check on Sam.

As he drew nearer to the hobbit he saw that Sam was methodically crushing something into a fine powder. He watched, discreetly, for a moment as Sam muttered something under his breath then brought a smooth, round stone down hard onto a flat stone.

"Sam? May I join you?" he asked quietly. Sam shot a glare at him and then resumed his pounding. Now he was rolling the round stone over the flat stone in smooth, even strokes.

"It's a free world, at least for now, I suppose," came the gruff reply. Sam looked over his shoulder at Merry and Pippin. "'They all right?" he asked softly.

"Yes, they will be fine. They have some frostbite, but they were fortunate. It is a milder case," Aragorn said studying the gardener.

Sam looked sullenly up at the ranger. "You *will* make sure they wash my pans, won't you?"

Aragorn smiled, "Yes, that will be their last duty before going to bed, unless they want you to awaken them before dawn so that you can fix them a meal."

Sam let out a laugh. "That would be interesting now, wouldn't it?" He turned back to his work, adding more granules to the powder and crushing it between the two rocks.

"What are you doing over here, Sam?" Aragorn asked, nodding towards work area.

"I've a bit o' wheat, not much more 'n a taste, really. But I thought Mr. Frodo might have wanted some scones or biscuits on our journey, so I nabbed it afore we left." He looked sadly over towards the entrance to the smaller cave. "Don't suppose he'll be wantin' any of them, though." He looked down at the stone and stared at the flour. Seemingly he made a decision and then once again, began to crush the wheat.

Aragorn smiled at him in wonder. "Wheat. No wonder your pack is so heavy, Sam, what with all of the surprises you continue to pull from it," he chuckled.

"Mr. Frodo needs things he don't even know he needs. It's just my job, is all, ta take care o' him," Sam replied curtly, but his face still flushed at the compliment.

"He's very lucky to have you with him, Sam."

Sam turned angry eyes on Aragorn. "And I him, sir. *I* won't just let him slip away like some others would," he said pointedly.

Now it was Aragorn's turn to flush. "I will not let him 'slip away', Sam. I fully plan to not only get Frodo well again, but to keep him warm and safely ensconced within his friends' and family's' love."

"Oh really, sir? And how might you be goin' ta do that, if I may be so bold?" Sam said sarcastically.

"You, Sam. You, Merry and Pippin will talk with Frodo about the Shire and the things he loves; his memories of happier times, his love of Bilbo, his long acquaintance with Gandalf. You will show him that he need not fear any of you, any of us, and through you, we will regain his trust and be able to treat him," Strider said softly.

Sam gave a harsh laugh. "Mr. Frodo don't want none of us near him. How am I supposed to get him to take medicines and food? Who other than those two crazy hobbits, a dwarf, an elf and a bunch of men, is goin' to taste my dumplins'?" His voice broke as he said this and a large, fat tear slowly coursed down his cheek. He wiped impatiently at it.

"We will put medicine in the soup..."

"NO! I'll have no part o' it. I won't have him thinkin' I'm poisonin' him by doin' such," Sam yelled, dropping the stone as he jumped to his feet.

Aragorn raised his hands in supplication. "Peace, Sam, peace. The only medicines I will give for his broth will be rue, garlic, onions, and cayenne. These have beneficial qualities that all of the Fellowship can enjoy and are flavorful as well. You will show Frodo each time you take him a meal, that the soup or teas are harmless, by taking a portion for yourself as well." Sam hesitated.

"It won't taste bad or make him sleepy or nothin'?" he asked.

"No, Sam. Only herbs that boost Frodo's health *and* are palatable will be used, I promise," Aragorn said, his eyes pleading. "Sam, if we do not get these medicines into Frodo, he will weaken and die," he said quietly.

Alarm filled Sam's eyes and he bent again to finish grinding the wheat into flour. "Then we bes' hurry, Mr. Strider. My master needs our help."

"What can I do to help?" Aragorn said with a small grin.

Sam smiled warmly at the ranger and handed him the snow hares. "I appreciate the help, Strider, and I know he will too." He glanced again over at the caves entrance, and then began grinding the flour with renewed purpose. "Yes, sir, he will too," he whispered.

 

TBC


	9. Rescue

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Rescue

Sam's movements were rushed as dinner was prepared in short order. Aragorn watched him, concerned that he had said too much and had alarmed the gardener to the point of panic concerning his Master's health. The stew was thick with pieces of rabbit meat, potatoes and carrots, garlic, onions and Sam's special dumplings. For a time no one spoke, all relishing the meal. Afterwards compliments were showered profusely upon the cook, although they went largely unnoticed by the distracted hobbit. Sam separated small amounts of the meal into another pot for himself and Frodo. He sat it on a flat stone besides the fire to keep it warm. Pippin eyed it hungrily until he received a ferocious glare from Sam, then declared himself full. He and Merry rose to collect snow to melt and wash the dishes and pans as Sam collected his pack and hastily made for the small opening to the other cave.

Aragorn stopped him saying, "If he is in need, call to me. I will be here beside the doorway."

Sam nodded. "Mr. Frodo probably won't even let me inside, Mr. Strider, but, yes sir, I'll do that if'n I gets in to see him," he said hurriedly. He leaned inside the portal trying to see within, but the room was pitch black and all that could be heard was the slow dripping of water from the high ceiling. He shivered, alarmed that, unlike the other cave, this one was drafty and bitterly cold.

"Mr. Frodo?" he called, receiving only the echo of his own voice in response. "Mr. Frodo?" There was still no answer. Icy tendrils of panic gripped Sam's heart and he called loudly, "Frodo!"

*****************************************

The servant entered the room bearing the requested tea. He approached the high backed chair and stared worriedly at the slumped figure before him. "Master?" he asked in concern.

"It is no use. I will be unable to continue the charade for many days. I am fatigued to the point of collapse and need rest." The voice held none of its normal hypnotic cadence or strong, booming power. It was the voice of a very old, very tired husk of a man. The features of the bearer of the voice had changed drastically as well. Gone were the lovely heart shaped face and golden tresses of the siren Lorelei. In its place the 'Master's' true identity was laid bare. Long dirty white hair hung down to the waist of his once iridescent robes. His dark eyes lacked luster and were sunken into the pasty, haggard countenance. Shakily he took the tea and drank slowly.

"But, my Lord, what of the Ringbearer? Will he not seek out Lorelei for guidance?" The servant asked worriedly.

The figure turned to look at the man that groveled at his feet. "He may, although I feel he is near death and may not have the strength to withstand another of our 'sessions' even if I had the strength to deliver one. He is firmly under the lovely Lorelei's spell and I see no reason why we need be concerned. His situation will have little changed by the time I have sufficiently regained my powers to coerce him further. I have one last task to perform then I shall rest for many hours," he said. He smiled widely revealing crooked, discolored teeth, the predatory gleam, once again, lighting his eyes. Fearfully the servant backed from the room.

*****************************************

He walked carefully around the edge of the room, his hand brushing lightly across the rocks as he passed. The occasional pop of a twig would sound as the dying fire consumed it, the embers casting a weak, flickering light upon the cold eyes of the dead. Frodo's breath hitched as he saw Sam, who lay facing towards him, eyes unseeing, a trickle of blood oozing from a head wound.

"Oh Sam," he sobbed. Angrily he looked towards the darkened corner in search of the monster who had killed his friends.

"So you have returned, Ringbearer," the voice sneered. "Had to have another peek at what you have done?" Mocking laughter seemed to surround him as the sound echoed off the walls.

"Who are you? I must know who did this thing," Frodo said angrily.

"But I told you, Frodo, *you* did this." An arm emerged from the shadows and pointed accusingly at the bodies of his comrades.

"No. That is..." Frodo began. He was cut short by the image of Lorelei suspended above the cave's floor, a sad smile on her lips.

"Oh, Frodo, I am so very sorry for you and your loss. If only you had heeded my counsel all of this could have been avoided," she said as, she too, pointed towards the bodies.

"Lorelei, tell me who did this, please," Frodo plead. She turned towards the darkened corner and a shadowy figure emerged. Frodo studied what he could see of this person but it was too dark to discern anything. At that moment a loud pop from the fire threw light against the darkened corner and the figure removed his hood.

Frodo screamed, "No this cannot be!" He fell to his knees weeping. Wicked laughter caused Frodo to look up into the once cherubic face. Instead of the light of innocence, caring and love in the blue eyes, there was a malicious gleam. "I told you Frodo, *you* did this, Frodo," said the once sweet, tenor voice.

*******************************************

Frodo jerked awake, his eyes swiveling about the room as he shook off the remnants of the nightmare. This room held no low crackling fire only inky blackness and, for a moment, he could not remember where he was. Slowly fragments of a memory came back to him. He recalled the slow, painful exodus to the small cave as he had left those he suspected were after the Ring. His cheek lay frozen against the sand and all feeling in his toes and fingers had long since left him. He attempted to push himself up but had not the strength to do so. He slumped back down to the sand, and his eyes began to slowly close as the frigid temperature crept further into his body. He was surprised that he felt very little pain only a peaceful somnolence as he lay on the glacial floor. 'This is not so bad,' he thought to himself. 'I should move, should try to move, the cold...shouldn't sleep...but I am so very tired.' These random thoughts passed languidly through his brain as his eyes began to close. 'I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry that I was not strong enough.' He wept bitterly at his perceived failure and it was this small sound that a frantic Samwise heard as he squeezed through the opening to the small cave.

********************************************

"Strider!" Sam shouted, although there was no need as Aragorn had quickly materialized at Sam's side upon hearing the gardener's first desperate cries.

"Sam, you must go in and find him whether he wants you to or not," the ranger urged. There was a frantic look in his eyes and Sam thought briefly that he had never seen that side of the healer.

"But...oh blast it all! Mr. Frodo needs me and I don't give a wit about his suspicions or doubts." Legolas appeared beside Sam and handed the gardener a torch. Sam slowly entered the cave, his eyes sweeping the room for movement. As he approached the pool he heard Frodo whimper. His Master lay on his stomach, hair frozen to the shallow puddle.

"Oh Sam," came the faint lament and then there was only the steady sound of Sam's footsteps as he ran to Frodo's side.

"Mr. Frodo. Mr. Frodo," Sam shook his master trying to bring about any response. He gently moved his friend onto his back, away from the pool and raced back to the opening where several concerned faces looked in.

"He's near frozen to death, Mr. Strider. We need to get him out afore he's gone from us," Sam sobbed, frantic.

"Pippin, Merry hang all blankets you can find by the fire. Gimli please put some large rocks in the coals," Strider urged, turning towards the awaiting Fellowship. "The blankets will take time to warm and..."

Boromir placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder causing the ranger to turn. In his arms he held the fur-lined cloak that had, only moments ago, protected his large frame. It was still warm and Aragorn smiled thankfully at the Gondorian. Boromir smiled in return. "I need it not and wish to give succor to the Ringbearer," he said worriedly. Aragorn clasped the hand on his shoulder companionably knowing that, at that moment, Boromir's feelings were clear. He took the gifted cloak and turned back to Legolas.

"I am too large to fit through the crevice. Do you believe it is possible for you to do so, my friend?"

Legolas nodded and moved to the opening with the cloak held close to his body. Sam waited on the other side as the elf squeezed through the narrow opening. The elf ran to Frodo's side, Sam anxiously on his heels. Legolas carefully gathered the frozen hobbit in his arms. He recoiled slightly at the small body's lack of heat as he wrapped him tightly in the garment. His face was grim as he raced back towards the opening to the warm cave. He handed the hobbit off to Aragorn who hastily moved to the warmth of the fire.

"Gimli, could you build up the fire please?" He asked without looking up. He studied the pale countenance of the ringbearer. Frodo's lips were blue and Aragorn was afraid that they had been too late in their rescue. His hands trembled as he felt for a pulse on Frodo's neck. He exhaled slowly, not having been aware that he had been holding his breath. "He is alive, although his life-beat is very irregular and weak," he said quietly. He gathered the heated rocks, wrapping them within the warmed blankets and placed these around Frodo's body, then he covered the ringbearer in the remaining blankets.

"Sam the soup please," Aragorn said, looking up into the frightened, tear stained face of the devoted servant. Sam retrieved the small pot of the warm stew after checking the temperature to ensure that it was not too hot. He scurried back to Frodo's side. His Master's shoulders had been raised and his head was cradled within the crook of Aragorn's arm. All that could be seen of him was his face peeking from the cocoon of blankets. Sam could not stop a sob from escaping his lips as he looked at the deathlike visage of his Master. Merry and Pippin appeared at his side. Merry placed a sock covered hand on Sam's shoulder, his eyes never leaving his cousin, as he and Pippin gazed fearfully at the pallid form that lay so perfectly still. Aragorn gently tapped the side of Frodo's face trying to rouse the hobbit. A small whimper, a first sign of life, escaped Frodo's lips.

"Gone. I failed them," Frodo said so quietly that Aragorn wasn't certain the hobbit had truly spoken. The ranger's brow creased then he slowly brought the warmed broth to Frodo's lips. He watched to see that his friend swallowed. The throat constricted then lethargically swallowed the liquid. He smiled, encouraged, and continued to painstakingly feed the fluid to Frodo. He watched as each time Frodo swallowed with less and less difficulty. Sam brought the medicinal tea to Aragorn after discreetly sweetening the cup with a pebble of the ginger. The healer smiled his thanks at the gardener and, once again, fed it to Frodo in slow, measured spoonfuls. When, a quarter of each cup had been imbibed and the liquid merely ran from the hobbit's mouth, Strider lay him down and moved the heated rocks closer to the frigid body.

"He is in a semiconscious state and seems to be responding. We need to keep him warm, of course, and feed him the broth and tea at regular intervals. I will take the first shifts and perhaps, then Gandalf, if that is all right, my friend?" he murmured as he looked over at the wizard.

"Of course, Aragorn," came the reply.

"Beggin' your pardon, sirs, but I'd like to take first shift," Sam said quietly. Gandalf turned and smiled down at the hobbit, thankful, once again, that the gardener had been caught eavesdropping at Frodo's window at what seemed like an age ago. Aragorn studied the worried face of the hobbit.

"Of course, Sam. I am sure Frodo would find comfort in you touch." Sam blushed. He moved to Frodo's side and slipped beneath the blankets trying to impart some small measure of body heat to his Master. Strider turned to Merry and Pippin "Could you gentlemen take the next shift after Sam?" Both nodded enthusiastically; glad to be of use in the care of their cousin.

Aragorn glanced once more at the ringbearer and the devoted friend and smiled knowing that Frodo was in good hands and that Sam would not rest this night, whether he was with Frodo or not. 'Better he do whatever he can to ease the way for Frodo's recovery than pace or fuss over the other members of the Fellowship as they take their turns in the care of the hobbit,' he mused.

The ranger dozed fitfully, jerking awake frequently only to peer worriedly over at Frodo. He awoke briefly at one point and watched as Sam gently coaxed the warmed broth and tea into his Master's mouth, whispering words of encouragement as he did so.

Unable to rest, Aragorn finally rose and began to build up the fire. He replaced the smooth rocks around Frodo's body that had gone cool. Frodo's color had begun to warm and he was gratified to see that the lips were pink rather than blue. He smoothed the still damp curls from the pale forehead as he marveled at the resilience of their companion and ringbearer. Frodo's eyes snapped suddenly open and peered unseeingly through Aragorn. Surprised, Aragorn drew back slightly. 'Frodo? Can you hear me, my friend?" He whispered fervently.

"They are all dead. The… Ring. It was… I did it," Frodo whispered. The hairs on the back of Aragorn's neck rose hearing these words. Frodo's face slackened and his eyes slowly closed. Aragorn tried to rouse Frodo further but the hobbit had slipped back into the realm of dreams. He pulled Boromir's cloak closer still about the hobbit's body and rose slowly. He stared down at the pallid face of his friend and pondered the meaning of Frodo's words. A feeling of dread passed through him. At last he turned, walking slowly towards the cave's opening to where Gandalf sat, his pipe, still smoldering within the hand on his knee, forgotten. The wizard's eyes were glazed over as he stared out into the blizzard that continued unabated. As Aragorn approached he heard the Istari whisper to himself, "It is as I suspected. Saruman."

For the second time in as many minutes, the hair rose on the back of Aragorn's neck and a feeling of dread washed over him.

To be continued...


	10. The Wolf at the Door

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Chapter 10

The Wolf at the Door

Aragorn slowly lowered himself down next to the Maia who continued to stare off into the blizzard, waiting for his friend to continue his musings.

"So long ago it could have been forgotten, indeed *has* been forgotten by the Third Age," Gandalf murmured.

Aragorn waited patiently, knowing the wizard was aware of his presence and needed to continue at his own pace.

"The five of us came to Middle Earth together, as guides and to contend against the growing power of Sauron. We were to remain detached from the evil that so easily took hold of mankind, seeking instead to influence subtly, not force or intimidate, with our powers." He turned his gaze upon Aragorn and offered a small smile. "Saruman was one of my brothers in this undertaking and worked on the side of good until Sauron's voice began to play on his craving for power and his ego as the leader of our quintet."

"What happened to the others, Gandalf? Can they not form a united front to help fight against Saruman?" Aragorn asked quietly, feeling a glimmer of hope.

Gandalf smiled. "Radagast, myself and Saruman are all that remain. The others have gone beyond my sight yet still remain somewhere in Middle Earth. Radagast communicates with the creatures on these shores and still helps our cause even though it has its subtleties. He wishes no additional power beyond that which he has. Myself alone, remain able to combat Saruman," he murmured. He retrieved his pipe, filled, tamped and lit it as he continued to reflect. He shook his head as if to dispel memory and melancholy and return him to the present. "It is history, that is all. What matters now is Frodo and our own fight against evil," he looked at Aragorn. "To restore the rightful King and to begin a new reign of peace and prosperity in Middle Earth." He smiled. "How fairs Frodo?" he asked as he replaced thoughts of what could have been with those of what could yet be.

"He is resting. The damage to his body is extensive. His hip is swollen but, inexplicably seems to be healing remarkably fast," Aragorn said in wonder. Gandalf hummed, not sounding surprised at this. "His other injuries, most notably the pneumonia, continue to weaken him." A whimper drew Aragorn's attentions back towards the cave. "He stirs." Aragorn rose and crossed to the hobbit's side, lifting him gently by the shoulders into his lap. He retrieved what remained of the soup and tea, mentally noting that more of both would need to be made, and began to slowly spoon the liquids into Frodo's small mouth. At first the swallows were tentative, hesitant, then, seized by sudden need and hunger, Frodo's mouth opened like that of a hungry bird and Aragorn spooned the sustenance at an increased pace into his friend. Aragorn smiled, satisfied that hunger and thirst had finally won out and he planned to take full advantage of it for as long as it worked on his side, hoping to strengthen and heal Frodo before the hobbit could withdraw, once again, into himself. Frodo slowly opened his eyes and stared up at his caregiver.

"Aragorn..." he whispered, not in fear, as before, but in thankfulness and trust.

The ranger smiled and sighed, relieved that the hobbit he knew seemed returned to them. He set the empty cup aside and felt the fevered forehead. A strained wet cough erupted from his friend as spittle flecked with blood, sprayed over the chin. The face paled as agony twisted his features and tears gathered and ran from the deep blue eyes. He looked up into Aragorn's face as if to ask why this had happened and pleading for any possible assistance. The look changed to one of acceptance and acknowledgement of the futility of the situation and the death he was certain awaited him. The latter, more than anything, alarmed Aragorn and he began to speak in urgent, beseeching tones.

"You are better, Frodo," he lied, deciding that Frodo did not need to remember his excursions from the other cave and the near loss of life due to the cold. Frodo coughed, choking on the thick phlegm that blocked his windpipe. His face became alarmed then resigned as his strength left him and he was unable to force breath into his battered lungs. Aragorn flipped him over, unmindful and uncaring of his injuries, tilting his head down as the small body suddenly went limp. When he felt this happen he again flipped Frodo over and forced his index finger between the bluing lips and down the narrow throat. It was at this moment that Sam awoke and, seeing the too still form of his master being brutally manhandled and intruded upon, launched himself with a shout, at the ranger. Aragorn, intent on extricating the plug of phlegm, did not see the alarmed and irate protector until he was hurled away from Frodo, a chestful of indignant gardener planted in his middle.

"Sam!" He shouted and tossed the gardener aside like a rag doll and, once again, grabbed the unconscious ringbearer, forcing his finger again down the throat. Frodo's body bucked once as the healer's efforts forced him to struggle for air. Aragorn, without thinking, hurriedly placed his mouth over Frodo's creating a tight seal. But instead of forcing air into the empty lungs, he began to suck the air from them. Frodo bucked again, his eyes fluttering weakly as Aragorn suddenly turned and retched into the dirt at his side. Gandalf ran to his side, extracting a narrow flask from the folds of his robe, as he ran. He tipped the dazed ranger's head back and deposited two drops of the liquid onto his tongue. The reaction was immediate as Aragorn's eyes cleared and he looked down at the large deposit of mucous beside him. A weak wheeze drew his attentions back to his charge. He snatched the flask from the wizard's outstretched hand and, dipping his finger into the contents and withdrawing enough of the mirovir to sprinkle into Frodo's mouth. The hobbit's breathing became stronger, though still filled with the rails of his disease, and Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the muscles of the small body move beneath his hands.

"Your healing methods can be most unorthodox, Aragorn. You frightened me badly and I feared we had lost both of you," the Istari said shakily. Aragorn merely nodded as he slumped protectively, over the unconscious hobbit.

"I have seen the Breath of the Iluvatar given before to patients thought beyond help, but this...this...just what did you do, my friend, to save our Frodo?" the wizard asked in confusion.

"Many years ago Arwen, then a child of a mere 2000 years, while laughing and singing, inhaled a piece of fruit. It became lodged in her windpipe. Elrond told me her last look into his face was one of anguish at putting her father through the grief that was sure to follow. This look stirred a great anger within him and he grabbed her, throwing her to the floor, and began striking her back in an attempt to dislodge the item. Arwen would not give up the morsel and quickly lost consciousness. He peered into her throat and surmised that the breath of life, or of Illuvatar," would only force the food further into her lungs, speeding her death. As he looked into her calm face a vision of Arwen, grown full and glowing with love and hope, came to him causing him to wonder at his gift of foresight. It was in that moment that he was overcome with feelings of desperation and a need for Arwen to see this vision fulfilled. He placed his mouth over hers, sealing the edges, and inhaled in an attempt to draw the object from her throat. The suction exerted was such that the piece of fruit flew from Arwen's throat into his own, which he then spat aside. He then gave the breath of life, refilling her empty lungs, and bringing her back to him." Aragorn's reverie faded as he smiled up at Gandalf. "She awoke, her eyes filled with love, and as if from a deep, dream filled sleep."

Gandalf smiled in wonder. "The story must have influenced you greatly for you to remember it for use now." His gaze shifted to Frodo whose chest rose slowly as another breath was taken.

"It came to me unbidden. I felt a great calm and knew what had to be done."

"I thought you were attackin' 'em and I had to stop you. Mr. Frodo was so frightened earlier of all of us. He musta got to me. I thought the two of you were fightin'", came a small voice. "I coulda' killed him. I *am* a ninnyhammer, jes' like me Gaffer is always a sayin'", a single sob erupted from the gardener as he looked over at his Master's body.

"Sam, are you injured?" Aragorn asked as he swiveled around to study the forgotten hobbit.

"No sir, but you tossed me a fair piece, ya did. I ain't flown so since fallen from our hay wagon when I was a youngun," Sam smiled. His gaze shifted back to Frodo and he scuttled over to his Master's side. Tenderly he took the cold hand in his warm, calloused one as his eyes became moist. "He's gonna die, ain't he?" he whispered sadly.

Aragorn started and looked sharply at the gardener. "No Sam, he is not," he said determinedly. "But I will need you to keep faith and work beside me if we are to succeed."

Sam straightened, his face grim, "Jes' feelin' sorry for meself. I won't let nothin' happen to you, Master," he squeezed the cold hand. "We're not lettin' you get away from us that easy. A fight you want? Fine, a fight it is," he said angrily.

Gandalf smiled and moved to add more wood to the fire. The remaining members of the Fellowship began to stir. Pippin looked over at Sam, hoping to see the gardener stirring his fry pan with breakfast and, momentarily, disappointed to see it was not to be. His eyes flew to his cousin noting Frodo's pallor and stillness. He grabbed Merry who came instantly awake and jumped up to run to Frodo's side.

"What has happened?" Pippin asked anxiously. Sam looked at the two hobbits then to Aragorn and Gandalf. They shrugged slightly, giving Sam helpless looks.

"Nothin' ya need worry about now. Strider here, saved him but it ain't done yet. There's work ta do ta get him better and with Strider's gift to be a healin' those that're poorly, Mr. Frodo's gonna be dancin' a jig in no time," Sam said with a grin.

Merry and Pippin looked at each other then over at their cousin, each having a very hard time imagining Frodo, at the moment, doing any kind of dance, then back at Sam, wondering if the gardener had been into Aragorn's powders. They turned to the ranger and asked what they could do to help in the care of their cousin. Pippin, frostbitten hands forgotten, threw the socks carelessly aside and began gathering snow to melt. All of Sam's pans were quickly filled with snow and placed on the fire. As they moved with purpose about their tasks, Frodo lay to the side, wrapped snuggly within Boromir's cloak. Glances were constantly shot his way, all thoughts never far from the battle he was waging.

Sam made thick gravy with bits of dried meat, flour, water and salt and sat it aside. He then made dough not unlike the night before, and rolled the sticky balls in fat placing them in the fry pan with a sizzle. Soon plates of fried biscuits covered in the thick, meaty gravy were in front of everyone and being hungrily devoured. The pans were washed and refilled with snow and soon pots of hot water sat everywhere. Aragorn moved to Frodo's side and slowly unwrapped the right leg leaving the rest of the small body covered warmly. He broke athelas into a pan of warm water, wet a flannel and gently washed the leg and foot. Grime quickly colored the water a dull gray and more was brought by Boromir who, wordlessly, replaced it. He dried the leg and covered it moving on to the left. Sam took up cups of water and placing his cloak under Frodo's shoulders, began to ladle the healing liquid lovingly over the dirt filled curls. He rubbed the scalp gently with his rough fingers, mindful to avoid the bump on the back of Frodo's skull. After he was satisfied that the hair was as clean as it was going to get, he took his nightshirt and squeezed the water from his Master's hair and finger combed the snarls free.

Sam smiled down into the quiescent face. His Master looked to be at peace and with a quick glance at Aragorn he saw that the ranger agreed. They finished bathing the hobbit at about the same time and Sam rose to retrieve hot water for tea. Aragorn touched Frodo's forehead lightly and was pleased to feel that the fever had dissipated. Sam walked towards him, carrying two steaming mugs, and sat down besides his Master. "I need to see to my medicinal tea and another mustard plaster, Sam. Call me if he awakens," the ranger said. Sam nodded, not thinking his friend to be doing this for some time yet. "His fever is lower," he said out loud to the group. "We can only wait, which is the hardest part of illness, to see how he truly fairs."

Each member of the Fellowship gradually moved to the fire circle. Gimli had removed his mail and was carefully cleaning each line of mesh as Merry and Pippin watched him. "Snow is especially hard on armor," the dwarf explained distractedly.

"Aye, and on weapons as well," Boromir said with an expectant glance in Frodo's direction. He pulled an oilcloth out of his pack with a sigh, and began to wipe down the beloved sword for the third time in as many days. Strider watched from the cave entrance, smoking and flanked by both Legolas and Gandalf. They glanced at each other with a smirk knowing that until Frodo awoke and could receive the full focus of the group's energies, there would be boredom and restlessness. Aragorn suddenly felt sorry for the hobbit as he looked at the others, knowing how the ringbearer would be inundated with good intentions once awake. Frodo had disliked being the center of attention before his injuries and it seemed he could not escape even while unconscious.

Gandalf cleared his voice and began to discuss Saruman's possible part in Frodo's accident and subsequent illnesses with the group, thinking that at least they might be able to work out a strategy to combat the wizard while Frodo slept. He mused that a good story was always an excellent diversion for boredom. Sam listened halfheartedly as he placed warmed rocks next to his Master's body.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He felt warm, almost too warm, his brain chided, but Frodo ignored the complaint deciding, instead, that he felt comforted and almost comfortable for the first time in many days. His body still thrummed with the unique pain that only trauma can bring, but it was somehow different - manageable. He struggled, trying to force his fog filled brain to focus. The nightmare. He remembered the nightmare, the one thing he would have given anything to forget and push from him. The arduous crawl to the cavern, the cold, the fall, then blessed oblivion.

And now he was here, wherever here was. He cared not. He only knew he felt surrounded on all sides by soothing murmurs, warm touches and the tender embrace of love and hope. His mind drifted deeper as he felt, faintly, the touch of cloth and warm water. A low murmur accompanied each stroke and even though he wished to clearly hear what was being said and see who his benefactors were Frodo's thoughts could not weave through the haze and converge to full wakefulness. He decided he didn't really need to know, that, in reality, he already knew who cared so gently for him. It was the same murmured reassurances and light touches that always came when he needed help and succor. The touches, the ministrations that never failed to sustain his body and spirit were those given, always freely, by his friends.

He quailed at the thought of how he had almost lost this forever, that he had doubted even for one moment, the love that was so generously showered upon him whenever the need arose. He was filled with a deep self-loathing, and guilt. He needed to tell them, he needed to explain. His mind began to battle upward as it tried to break the surface of consciousness to beg for understanding and the forgiveness that was always freely given. His struggles translated themselves to the physical as he fought against his haven of unconsciousness. A cold sweat covered his face as his head moved restlessly back and forth. A whimper of frustration escaped his lips. The cloth was back. A murmured reassurance and a gentle coolness on his forehead attempted to calm him. Sam. It was the whispered voice of his best friend, his constant defender, protector and ally and one that he had so carelessly tossed aside with suspicion and doubt. Frodo fought harder to break through his fog. He had to tell Sam how it had all been a mistake, a monstrous error that he desperately needed to rectify.

Water, no - tea was brought to his dry lips followed by spoonfuls of a rich broth, and he swallowed. There was usually pain, excruciating pain when he accepted food, drink or a healing touch and he braced himself for it. But, to his amazement, it never came. He relaxed and the cup returned. He drank greedily. Murmur's chided him and the cup was removed. He whimpered plaintively and it returned. He swallowed slowly, first the delicate taste of tea, then the thick broth. The broth was wonderful and he swallowed quickly, gulping as only a starving man can. More murmurs, a tone of joy and delight then he felt himself gently pulled into a large, warm lap. Blankets were pressed about him and the smell of pipeweed, sweat and pine filled his nostrils.

To his side smaller hands combed through his curls accompanied by an unending string of words that overlapped and filled him with a familiar warmth. He heard his name called repeatedly but still could not get his eyes to open and let them know that he was there, that he heard them and that he desperately needed to speak back to them. The voices seemed to draw away and he felt himself being lowered down onto a soft bedroll. Anger and frustration filled him until he heard a beloved voice, gruff, though not, that he yearned for. An old friend, a friend that he had disparaged and now needed desperately to hear his silent plea. There was a pause then a quick footstep to his side. Questions then a light touch of a gnarled hand upon his forehead.

"Frodo? Frodo, I can hear you my dear boy." He heard the words clearly in his head.

"Help me, Gandalf. Wake me. I must now awake!" Frodo fairly shouted. Another light touch and Frodo's eyes sprang open. Deep blue fastened onto tear-filled gray as Frodo cried out in surprise and relief finally releasing all the fear and suspicion that had kept him from those who loved him and understood him more than he did himself.

to be continued--


	11. Fever Pitch

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Once again, I must apologize for the lateness of this entry. I can only promise one thing to you, loyal reader, and that is that this story will be completed. I do not believe in unfinished tales, no matter how long it may take me to write them. I, however, cannot promise you that delays won't happen. It takes time to write the chapter and I seem to have a very busy schedule these last few months. All I can do, it would seem, is to offer my apologies and assurances and do the best that I possibly can. Thanks for sticking with me and now let's get to the story....

Chapter 11

Fever Pitch

"Gandalf," Frodo sobbed weakly, and found his body, heedless of injury, engulfed within the welcome embrace of his oldest friend.

"My dear, dear boy," the wizard whispered into his ear as Frodo continued to sob uncontrollably.

"Gandalf. Oh, Gandalf, please forgive me, I beg you," Frodo gasped.

Gandalf tenderly laid the hobbit down onto his blankets and studied the flushed face. "There is nothing to forgive, Frodo. You have journeyed far from us but now are returned, thank Eru. Can you tell us now what has very nearly taken you from us?" The Istari's voice shook with emotion.

Frodo nodded weakly. "I am frightened, Gandalf. The battle only just begins and I am in dire need," he whispered.

"We, all of us, will fight with you, Frodo. We have the power of good on our side and therefore, you do as well."

Hearing Frodo's voice, mail and weapons were discarded with a clang as all converged on the prone figure of their friend and kin. Everyone began to talk to Frodo at once, asking how he felt, was he in pain, was he hungry, cold or did he have need of anything. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut trying to weed through the cacophony. He began to breathe in sharp pants, needing to speak to them before the fogginess returned, something Frodo had learned was a precursor of a loss of consciousness, took him. His eyes lit on each face of his Fellowship friends.

"I have treated you all so badly," he croaked. "How can I ever gain your forgiveness?" he whispered fervently. A chorus of murmured responses filled the cavern, encompassing and overwhelming his senses. He closed his eyes again; his breathes becoming more and more labored. His vision began to dim, the voices seeming to come from far away. He fought the impending faint. 'I must be allowed to finish. I must warn them,' he screamed inside.

"No, no..." he cried weakly, but they were all so involved in reassuring him that they did not hear him. "No, you must hear me, please," he begged. Aragorn pulled him closer, raising his hand to silence the well-meaning throng; his concern mounting at Frodo's struggle to draw air. One by one they silenced and peered uncertainly at the hobbit.

"No...The dream..."

"Was just a dream, Frodo," Aragorn crooned as he tried to calm the increasingly agitated hobbit.

"No...A vision. You...are...in ...danger. Must leave. Must leave. Don't want to hurt anyone," Frodo gasped. He pushed anxiously against Aragorn trying to speak, trying to warn them. He clutched, convulsively, at the Ranger's sleeve.

"Naught to worry about, Master. Nothin' will hurt you while Samwise Gamgee is at your side," soothed his loyal friend, completely misunderstanding Frodo's words.

"No...Sam, please. Must...warn," rasped the ringbearer. His eyes closed and the desperate grip on Aragorn's arm relaxed. His body went limp and the ranger quickly felt for a pulse. He found it beating far too rapidly, frequently missing a beat. He put his ear to Frodo's chest, hearing only the gurgling in Frodo's lungs as they made one last, desperate attempt to draw breath.

His eyes flew open in alarm as he checked for the rise and fall of the narrow chest, and finding it absolutely still, began to bark hurried orders. "Sam, my bag," he yelled. Instantly cries of dismay and questions began to fly. "Please, move away. I need room to work," Aragorn said, his voice frantic.

The remaining members of the Fellowship stepped back. Boromir crouched down and pulled a frightened Merry and Pippin into a comforting embrace. Their gaze never left the lax form of their cousin as silent tears slowly ran down their worried faces. Sam quickly reappeared at Aragorn's side, bag in his hands.

"What's wrong with 'em, Strider," he cried. "Why ain't he movin'?"

"He has stopped breathing, Sam. His lungs have filled with liquid." He looked up at the gardener's terrified face. "Frodo is literally drowning in his own fluids. We have to try and alleviate the situation or he will die," the ranger whispered fervently. "We have little time. Quickly, in my bag there is a silk wrapping. Within are several very slender glass tubes, made for me by the elves. Choose the larger of the three." He handed his smaller blade he carried on his belt to Gandalf. "Hold this in the fire, then return it to me with all due haste," he said.

Gandalf left and, after only a few moments, returned, the blade glowing orange. Sam held out the tube, gaping in wonder at the finely tooled instrument and wondering at how such a thing could have been created. Aragorn brutally cut the bindings that surrounded Frodo's chest, flinging the mustard plaster aside. He hurriedly flooded the unmoving chest with the cool athelas water. As soon as he had that done he laid his flexed hand on the rib cage, his little finger resting on the collarbone and his thumb positioned mid-range. He walked his fingers down, counting the ribs as he went. He stopped at the last two ribs, bent over and pushed the narrow blade deep into the recess between them.

Sam cried out in surprise and lurched forward to protect his master but sturdy arms laced around him and he was pulled back with a sob. Aside from a slight jerk, there was no sign that Frodo had felt the blade as it sank into his chest, which only compounded Aragorn's worry. All watched in total silence as Aragorn worked feverishly, to insert the fragile glass tube into the hole he had made. Legolas moved silently to Frodo and placed the ringbearer's head in his lap. He rested his fingers on Frodo's neck, feeling for the life beat. Worry etched his normally stoic features as he murmured in a low voice to Aragorn, "He is fading. His heartbeat is very weak."

Aragorn gave him a curt nod to show that he had heard but did not cease his ministrations. When the tube, at last, slipped home a thick, bloody exudate squirted over Frodo's pale abdomen. As Aragorn moved to the other side of Frodo's pale torso the flow slowed to a steady dribble, running down the side of his body and pooling near his arm. The shot of viscous fluid quickly quieted to a steady stream. A single weak cough was heard, so quiet that if Aragorn and Legolas had not been bent over the hobbit it would have gone unnoticed. Aragorn, hands covered in blood and ickor, moved to Frodo's head and bent it back, placing his mouth firmly over the dusky lips.

Legolas stopped him with a tap on the shoulder. "Estel, I am not bound by the illnesses that plague mankind as you are, please allow me to breathe for Frodo," he said, eying his friend in concern. With a considering look, followed by a nod, Aragorn moved out of the way and watched as Legolas again tilted Frodo's head back and delivered a slow, shallow breath into the oxygen deprived hobbit. As the air filled Frodo's lungs it displaced more of the fluid and the liquid flowed faster with each of the elf's exhalations. Aragorn placed two fingers on the narrow neck, feeling for a pulse, as he watched the hobbit's chest rise and fall with Legolas's exertions. A small cough, followed by an almost imperceptible whisper of a moan preceded a ragged first breath, as Frodo began to come back to them.

The group gave a collective sigh as a second deeper and stronger breath followed the first. Aragorn closed his eyes in relief and noticed, for the first time, that his hands were shaking. He washed the pus and blood from them and then carefully washed Frodo's chest, taking care not to disturb the tube. He began to wind gauze tightly around the hobbit's ribcage, securing the delicate instrument in place.

"Are you going to leave that in?" Pippin asked, timidly.

Aragorn looked up at the smallest member of their troupe with a wan smile. Pippin studied his friend in concern, seeing signs of deep fatigue on the ranger's face, and impulsively reached out, placing his small hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Are you all right, Strider?" he asked worriedly.

Aragorn's smile widened as he perceived the genuine worry that shown from the bright green eyes. "Aye, Pippin, I am all right...now. Yes, we will need to leave this small tube in place until the fluid is drained off. Frodo's lungs were so full of the infection that there was no room for air. He should feel much improved once the liquid is drained away," he smiled reassuringly at the Took. He turned back to Frodo. "His fever is raging. Even when he stopped breathing, and I had thought we had lost him, it was like standing next to an open flame," he mused.

"Mayhap a cool bath?" Sam asked timidly.

"Normally, I would agree with you Sam, however I believe we will need to take more drastic measures. While fever is not always a bad thing, being merely the body's way of fighting what ails it, too high of one can be deadly." His eyes drifted towards the cave opening. "Boromir, would you mind if we used your shield as an ice bath for Frodo?" he asked, looking up at the Gondorian.

Boromir smiled. "Of course, why did I not think of that? We could place Frodo within it and surround his body with the snow to bring down his fever," he smiled again as he looked at Aragorn and, with a nod, he, Gimli and Gandalf made for the mouth of the cave with the shield in tow. When they returned, Frodo had been turned onto his side to allow the tube to drain more easily. The snow was piled onto a blanket as Frodo was wrapped and placed inside the shield. Then the snow was packed around and over his body until all that shown was his pale face. The sight caused made the hairs on Sam's neck prickle. His master was almost as white as his surroundings and, if Sam hadn't known better, he would have thought he had already expired. Frodo's brow smoothed as the cold began to wash away the heat that burned within him.

Sam hurried to the fire and put a pot of water on to boil for the tea. Then he stirred more water into the leftover stew, adding more garlic, onions and carrots. He frowned when he saw that there was no more meat. As if reading his thoughts, Legolas donned his cloak and grabbed his bow. He smiled at Sam as he hurried out into the blizzard. Sam stared after him, a quizzical expression on his face. He didn't know if he liked the idea of traveling with someone who could read minds. It made him feel like he was stripped bare and standing in the center of Hobbiton.

After some time, Frodo began to shiver and Aragorn removed him from the shield, wrapped him in dry blankets and placed him on a heavily padded pallet by the fire. Merry and Pippin had scrounged all of the remaining blankets and soft clothing to make a small nest in which Frodo could lay. The wet blankets were quickly hung near the fire to dry. Aragorn could see that the glass tube was continuing to drain, and the ranger was heartened to hear good, strong breath sounds for the first time in many days from the ringbearer. A gentle tap at his shoulder brought him from his reverie. Gandalf stood gazing down at him. He held, in his hand, a large, steaming mug of freshly made tea.

"Echinachea and rue," the wizard said with a twinkle in his eye.

Aragorn's eyes widened as he took the mug. "You've been holding out on me, my friend. I was not aware that you had any healing skills." He sipped slowly at the liquid, grimacing at the bitter taste, and making a mental note to sweeten Frodo's portion more heavily when it came time to dose him. Sam joined them and casually dropped two pieces of candied ginger into the cup. Aragorn smiled broadly up at the grinning gardener by way of thanks.

"'Tis the least I can do what with all you've done for me master," he said shyly.

Gandalf smiled and chuckled at the sour look on Aragorn's face. "Not so easy to take your own medicine, Estel?"

"It's horrible. However does Frodo take it?"

"He 'takes it' because you *wish* it of him," Gandalf said. "He trusts your judgment and, although he fights you at every turn, he will almost always give into what you wish because he knows that you do it for his own good." He chuckled happily, tousling Sam's curls, much to the annoyance of the gardener, before leaving the two of them to stare after him, and joined the others who were crowded around their ill friend. Aragorn checked Frodo's pulse and breathing again, finding both strong and regular as Sam hovered near by. The ranger placed a hand on the pale forehead. The fever was little reduced by the snow bath but he thought that the hobbit had endured enough for one day and decided to take a wait and see attitude.

Frodo's eyes fluttered weakly open. He moaned in pain and licked at his cracked lips. Sam was at the ready with a cup of the cooled medicinal tea, which Frodo drank thirstily despite the bitter aftertaste.

"How do you feel, my friend?" Aragorn asked, his face softening in concern.

"Hurt …" was Frodo's only reply.

"I am sorry, little one, but we had to take rather drastic measures or you would have been lost to us," the ranger explained quietly. He smoothed an errant curl away from the fevered forehead. "Aside from the pain from the surgery, how does your chest feel? Can you take a deep breath for me?"

Frodo slowly inhaled and found that he *could* almost fully inflate his lungs, which had not previously been possible. "Yes. Yes it is much better, thank you," Frodo rasped. "Aragorn, I must warn you and the others about..." Frodo began. A paralyzing pain suddenly ripped through his frame and he cried out in anguished surprise, his eyes widening.

"What is it Frodo? Where does it hurt?" Aragorn asked in alarm. Up until that moment, Frodo had complained little about his other injuries, so the ranger was startled at the sudden severity of the hobbit's pain.

"Aragorn," Frodo panted, "you and the others are in grave danger..." the hobbit screamed in agony as his body received yet another intense spasm.

Aragorn began feeling up and down the broken arm and inspecting the formerly displaced hip, which had healed remarkably well, but all looked in order and his brow furled in confusion.

Frodo's eyes brimmed with unshed tears as he tried, desperately, to speak. "Sam, Pippin, Merry, all of you will be..." he screamed long and hard, arching his back up off of the padding and feebly flailing his arms and legs. Sam sat hands extended outwards, a look of frustrated impotence on his face, confounded as to how to best alleviate his master's pain. The rest of the Fellowship had gathered, in a tight group, around the ringbearer. The pain finally became too much for the hobbit to bear and he sank back, losing consciousness.

Aragorn looked up at Gandalf in concern. "What could have caused such torment?" he asked.

Gandalf leaned on his staff as he gazed worriedly down at their comrade. "I am uncertain, but I mean to find out," he murmured thoughtfully.

tbc


	12. Phantasm

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

 

Chapter 12

Phantasms

The agony that had ripped him from the arms of his loving friends left him just as quickly as it had come. In its place came welcome relief and a strangely disconnected feeling. Frodo felt as if he were floating, his arms and legs buoyed up by unseen beings with the lightest of touches. He prayed that it was finally over, that his battered body and mind could finally find the healing and rest he so desperately craved. He felt a light touch upon his forehead and cracked his eyes open. Above him, smiling warmly down at him was his mother. He sighed, thankful that he had finally passed into the next world.

"No, my sweet poppet, you have not died," she whispered softly. "I could not have you leave your friends just yet, no matter how much I would love to hold you in my arms once again."

Frodo turned his face away and began to weep bitterly. "I can not do this. I can no longer carry on. I am so tired and my own body fights me at every turn," he cried.

"There, there my Frodo. Perhaps if you were to tell me what has you so tied up in knots. Perhaps *I* could help you choose your path," she whispered, gently stroking his hair.

He turned and looked into her face. "It has been so long, I feared I would have forgotten your face, mum." His chest hitched. "But you are just as I always remembered. I have missed you so much." He broke down and Primula drew her son tightly to her, kissing his brow and curls.

"Yes, I am unchanged, but you, you turned out to be the handsome lad I always envisioned," she smiled widely. "We have only a moment together, then you will have to return."

Frodo shook his head violently back and forth. "No ... no, please, I beg you, don't send me back. I want to stay here with you," he cried.

She captured his face between her hands and graced him with a sad, loving smile. "No Frodo. It is not the way of things. One day we will be together again, but until then, you have much to accomplish. Now tell me. Tell me what you have been unable to speak of to the others and I will hold you close and listen."

Frodo nodded slowly and began the long story of the Ring and how it ruled his days and nights, of the mysterious Lorelei and how she wanted him to forsake his friends and take It to Saruman and, lastly, about his nightmare and how he had seen the carnage that he had caused. She listened patiently, occasionally stopping him to clarify some factual. When at last Frodo had finished his tale, he lay back, spent. He felt a measure of peace, sharing the worries and secrets he had kept hidden deep within him.

"I think you should listen to Lorelei, Frodo." He looked up sharply, a frown between his eyebrows. He did not know what he had expected her to say but, for some reason, he felt this was *not* a response his mother would have given to him. She would have counseled him to speak openly with Gandalf, Sam or Aragorn but *not* to a strange woman that he had only met in troubled dreams.

"Why do you say that, mum?" He asked, his voice wavering as a tendril of dread trailed coolly down his spine.

"Don't look so surprised, dearest. I am, after all, your mother and if this fair lady says she can take the Ring and see It destroyed, then let her. Be rid of It once and for all. Then you and those you care for would be safe and could return home." She smiled wanly at him. "I only want you to be safe, son." She reached out to him, but Frodo flinched away. She looked confused.

"But what of Middle Earth and all her peoples? What of Sauron? Would you have me save myself at the expense of the innocent, the world as we know it destroyed in the process?"

"Of course not, Poppet. I'm only saying that we are *just* hobbits. Let the big folk take care of the weightier matters. We have our own secluded lands and it's not our place to be out fighting causes we surely have no business in in the first place," she said with conviction.

If Frodo had had his doubts before, this last only confirmed his worst fears. He was sure of only one thing at that moment; this was *not* his mother. His mother had always told him that, even though hobbits were small, they were equally responsible in righting wrongs in Middle Earth. Frodo remembered this fact because his mother's view of the world outside the Shire was not shared with the rest of its inhabitants. Most hobbits lived happily oblivious of the outside world and worked very hard at maintaining their isolation and not involving themselves in matters deemed not their concern. She had instilled in him her belief that those presumed to be weak should never be allowed to be enslaved by an oppressor; that they should rise up and fight against those who sought control and subjugation. She had believed that nothing could stand in the way of one who was determined to fight for the side of good. But the most important point she had brought home to her child was that hobbits, when properly motivated, could be fierce warriors; that, yes, they were smaller but they had other abilities that more than made up for lack of stature. 'We are all part of Middle Earth, Frodo,' she had said. 'Just because we live in the Shire and enjoy a peaceful existence does not mean that we are exempt from defending those who do not enjoy the same freedoms.'

He felt a flush of anger that this phantasm should take on the appearance of the gentle soul that was Primula Baggins. He mustered reserves of strength from deep within and said in a firm voice, "You are not my mother."

'Primula' drew back in shock, her expression turning to one of scorn. "You will be the death of them all," she said, flatly. Her appearance changed, warping and twisting into an image of absolute horror. The face became shriveled and pocked; the hair, previously lustrous and a healthy chestnut, became a tangled mop of dirty lanks. The creature smiled a gap tooth grin and leaned in close to Frodo's frightened face. "Their deaths will haunt you all the days of your life." Her breath was that of decay and Frodo drew back in revulsion. A shrill laugh escaped the gaping mouth and then she was gone and Frodo was left alone, his wounds screaming at him more powerfully than before. An agonized scream left his lips and then he knew no more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

The scream that issued forth was one of mental and physical anguish and Strider bent over the trembling body, seeking some way, any way, to calm his suffering friend. Having tried everything medically possible, he resorted to the calming effects of the human touch, and drew the quailing figure close to his own. He rocked the fevered body gently as he crooned words of comfort into the shell shaped ear.

"He's sufferin', Strider. Is there naught you can do for him?" cried Sam frantically. The devoted gardener searched the ranger's face for some small glimmer of hope.

"I will try, Sam. But Frodo seems to be plagued more by demons of the mind than his physical wounds; delusions brought on by the fever, no doubt," he said helplessly.

"I am not so certain, Aragorn. I think the dear boy is being inundated with visual imagery, an attempt to sway him to do what Saruman's bids," Gandalf said.

Sam, Merry and Pippin turned frightened faces to the Maia. "Can you help him, Gandalf?" Pippin asked in a small, frightened voice.

"Yes Pippin, I believe I can. I can enter Frodo's dreams and, together, we can battle Saruman together."

All looked hopeful at this revelation. Frodo's eyes cracked open and he sobbed hysterically as he beheld the ring of friends surrounding him.

"Help me, please," he whimpered.

"That is just what we intend to do, Frodo. You must try to remain strong for the time being, while I consider my course of action," Gandalf whispered, bending to take Frodo's hand in his larger, gnarled one. "We will help you fight this battle and I am certain we shall prevail," he smiled reassuringly.

Frodo calmed and began to slip back into slumber.

"No Frodo, I need you awake for what I am about to do, my friend," whispered Aragorn. Frodo had closed his eyes but he nodded weakly indicating that he had heard. "Sam, I need some fresh athelas water and two whole leaves soaked, not crushed, laid in the water." Sam nodded and retrieved the asked for items. Aragorn crushed some of the healing herb into the steaming pan then slipped two shriveled leaves into the basin to soak. "Merry, could you please bring me some bandages and some heavier gauze padding?" Merry nodded and ran to the pack of medical supplies Elrond had provided to augment Strider's limited satchel, thankful to have something to do. "Pippin, if you wouldn't mind, place two blankets outside the cave entrance to chill. Not in the snow, just inside the small alcove immediately outside the cave's entrance."

Pippin beamed at Strider, knowing that, yes, the ranger could have assigned these simple tasks to the larger members of the Fellowship but wisely, he had selected Frodo's friends and kin, aware of how much they needed to contribute to Frodo's care. Aragorn smiled back at him, again surprised at the youngest hobbit's ability to sense his intentions. Pippin ran to do as bidden. Shortly all returned, all bearing the requested tokens. At that moment, Legolas entered the cave bearing six-snow ptarmigans from his hunting endeavors. He immediately saw the situation and took Aragorn's place, keeping Frodo in a slightly inclined position.

Aragorn unwound the gauze surrounding the glass tubing. He smiled to see that the tube was still draining the viscous fluid, knowing that the small lungs were still blocked from any possibility of outside air entering and, thus, preventing Frodo's lungs from collapsing. He looked up into the sweaty face of the Ringbearer and said "Frodo, I need you to take a deep breath then blow it all out slowly. Then you will need to hold your breath while I remove the tube." Frodo gave the ranger a frightened nod. Aragorn indicated he was ready and Frodo attempted to take a deep breath, which was shallower than Aragorn, would have liked. He exhaled slowly and when the healer was satisfied that no air remained in the small lungs, he quickly pulled the tube from Frodo's right lung. The pain was immediate and Frodo's face paled noticeably. Moving fast, the ranger washed the wound with the athelas water then sealed the opening with one of the now limber leaves, pressing down firmly. Frodo's eyes filled with tears as he struggled weakly, trying not to reflexively gasp at the pressure.

"Now inhale slowly, Frodo," Aragorn whispered. The hobbit slowly tried to inhale, but panic suffused his face when he found he could not. He looked at Aragorn fearfully.

"Easy, Frodo. Try again, my friend," the ranger said calmly, trying to assume a mask of impassivity that he did not feel. Frodo concentrated on Strider's face, willing himself to be at peace. He slowly took another slow breath and relief suffused his face as the oxygen starved lung filled, albeit shallowly. He took another breath, this time deeper and fell back against Legolas, exhausted. Black specks filled his vision as the dizziness slowly faded.

"Very good, Frodo," the ranger smiled. "Sam, place your hand here and hold firm pressure on this wound." Sam gulped, not wanting to cause his Master further pain, but Frodo smiled encouragingly up at him and Sam did as bidden. Frodo's head swam as he began to lose consciousness. Legolas lightly licked his fingers and placed them on Frodo's eyelids, trying to keep Frodo conscious.

Frodo weakly opened his eyes and looked gratefully up at the elf. Legolas smiled shakily down at his friend and Frodo thought dimly how seldom he had seen the elf's stoicism broken. Finally able to breath more freely, he relaxed, feeling for the first time in many days, thankful for the mere ability to do something as simple as drawing breath.

Aragorn smeared a salve around the edges of the leaves, effectively sealing the punctures. Sam continued to press down as Aragorn wound bandages tightly around Frodo's chest, holding the leaf in place. The ranger rocked back on his heels and took a shaky breath, as did all who watched.

He watched the Ringbearer carefully as each inhalation became deeper and more relaxed. He requested the cooled blankets and, after placing a dry blanket over Frodo's body, laid them on top. Frodo's eyes had closed and he appeared to be resting peacefully. Aragorn had wanted to dose and feed the hobbit, but decided to allow Frodo the much-earned nap instead.

"We can watch him, Strider. It's been a long time since you slept. We'll wake you if there's a problem," Pippin said, concerned at the mounting fatigue, which was etched on the ranger's rugged face.

Aragorn smiled at the green eyed Took and rose, without argument (a testament to the complete exhaustion the ranger was experiencing), went to his bedroll and collapsed, sinking into a deep sleep almost immediately. Everyone set about helping with the evening meal, stealing frequent concerned glances towards the Ringbearer who now slept peacefully.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"He is stronger than he looks. He was even able to resist his most desired wish; to see his long dead mother," mused Saruman. "No matter," he said indifferently. "Let him accept the short lived succor of his friends; their vile medicines and stews. I have other methods of coercing him to do my bidding without him even being aware of it," he smiled maliciously as he watched the Fellowship's care of the Ringbearer in the palantir with disdain. "Subtle and wise. Yes, that is how I shall proceed; with the subtlety and the great wisdom only Saruman the White can dispense."

TBC


	13. The Choices of Master Frodo

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

 

I had thought this to be the last chapter of this story, but it seems the Muse had other ideas. It's a long one, so sit back with your cup of tea and relax.

Chapter 13

The Choices of Master Frodo

The corridor seemed to be darker than what Frodo remembered. It smelled of the dank mustiness associated with being underground and he did not believe he would ever be able to go down into Bilbo's cellar ever again, if given the opportunity to do so. There was always the rustling and he increased his pace hoping to outrun the vines that always seemed to claw and tear at his cloak.

He did not know why precisely, but he had begun to have serious doubts about Lorelei and her intentions. She had a power about her that frightened him, especially when she became angry, and there were times when he felt she had ulterior motives concerning himself and, especially, her supposed well meaning intentions towards the Ring. She sounded genuinely concerned about the predicament of Middle Earth, about how the Ring should be destroyed, but there was something that simply did not ring true, causing an already overwrought Frodo to worry even more that he had, somehow, thrown in his lot with the wrong side. She had only treated him with kindness and concern, but there were moments that Frodo was certain he caught a look of vindictive glee when he was in pain or under duress.

When he finally emerged into the wide room, he was breathing heavily. Lorelei sat in front of a large gilt mirror that was encircled with forms of serpents encrusted in gold and jewels. As she slowly brushed her hair she hummed softly to herself, the brush moving languidly through the spun gold locks.

"Ah, Frodo, my dear, it has been far too long since you have come to visit with me," she said, a pretty little pout on her lips. "I had thought, perhaps, you had begun to find me boorish."

"Oh, no, my lady, never that!" Frodo said alarmed at offending the beautiful woman. She is beautiful, he thought to himself. All previous doubts as to the integrity of this siren were banished immediately from his head. As he gazed at the lovely vision before him he could not ever imagine feeling anything but fealty to her. She wore a long flowing gown in lightest green, tied with a jeweled sash about her small waist. Her hair hung down to the middle of her back and shimmered as if lit from within. Her eyes, a deep ocean blue, sparkled with mischief as she smiled over at him. The rose-colored mouth smiling precociously as it revealed perfectly straight, white teeth. She giggled flirtatiously, causing him to blush to his toes and lower his eyes.

"My deepest apologies, Lorelei," he bowed low. "I am, as always, your servant." Frodo did not see the look of triumph that filled her face as he bowed. He stood erect and she smiled sweetly at him as she placed a single kiss on his forehead. He felt, again, the clammy chill when her lips touched him. It was as if something reptilian had caressed him and he instinctively drew back, covering his actions with a small blush.

She seemed not to notice, perhaps thinking her 'suitor' just a bit shy.

She motioned towards a hobbit sized overstuffed armchair and, once Frodo was comfortable, she sat down on an ottoman in front of him, adjusting her skirts as she did so. "So, Frodo, what is the meaning for this lovely visit, hmm?" She asked coyly.

Frodo looked confusedly at her. "I always thought that when I came to you in my dreams that it was you, my lady, that had summoned me," he said hesitantly.

"Not always, my dear. Sometimes I have need to speak with you or caution you and send you a summons as you sleep, but I did not do that this eve," she smiled sweetly. Even though she was always the one who instigated their meetings, she wanted him to think that some pressing matter that he alone was aware of, had made him seek her out. She watched him as he digested this fact. "I think I know what troubles you so, Frodo. It is the nightmare, is it not?"

Frodo looked up sharply. "I cannot deny that it haunts me by day and by night, but I have decided that it is only a dream brought on by injury and ill health and nothing more," he said, trying to sound convinced.

"I see," Lorelei said solemnly. Frodo's eyes locked with hers.

"Am I mistaken in thinking this?" he asked uncertainly.

She looked troubled. "Frodo, I believe that you feel I am trying to lead you down a road you do not wish to travel. It truly is not my intention to do so and, perhaps, I have already said and done too much in my attempts to see that good win over evil. I have thought on this long and hard and I feel that I am not helping you, although I have tried, and should step aside and allow you to rely on your own feelings on this matter," she sighed dejectedly, dabbing her eyes daintily with a lightly scented handkerchief.

"No, you cannot leave me alone on this. I greatly desire your counsel. Please, my lady, tell me what I am to do, for I am lost and alone. I fear that, if left to my own device, I will choose poorly and all will fail even to the ending of Middle Earth and the deaths of my friends." He looked at her, his eyes pleading for her intervention.

Lorelei smiled. "I had thought you had chosen not to hear my counsel when you decided to eat and drink with your Fellowship."

Frodo cringed. "I was unable to resist their efforts to feed me. It was not that I desired to disobey you, my lady, it was just that I was so weak and ill."

It had not gone unnoticed to Lorelei that Frodo had said 'disobey' and she felt triumphant that she was slowly pulling him in to do whatever she desired. "Nevertheless, Frodo, it did cause me much anguish and I worried that you might be poisoned or worse. But it seems, my thoughts on this matter were mistaken and that perhaps, your group of friends are not as ill meaning as I had first surmised. Still…I firmly believe that there are those members of the Fellowship that will be turned by the Ring. Never forget, Frodo, that the Ring is a powerful seductress and will enslave all who are in its presence as time goes by."

A cold chill ran down Frodo's spine as he searched his memories for any suspicious looks or conversation concerning himself or the Ring. He could only bring to mind Boromir and his desire to take Frodo and the Ring to Minas Tirith. The man had been adamant about what he believed to be the best and only choice Frodo could make. "I shall be wary, my lady, although it is not in my nature to be distrustful, especially of those who have sworn their allegiance to me and our cause."

"As you wish, Frodo. It is, after all, your decision," she said flatly. "The nightmare…you are mistaken thinking it is only a dream, Frodo. It is a vision of things to come if you continue on your current course."

Frodo's eyes widened. "That is impossible. I would never do such things as are in the nightmare. I care dearly for those I travel with and detest violence of any kind. I simply cannot believe that I would be capable of such a thing," he said emphatically.

"No Frodo, You would not do those things. But the Ring is already taking hold of you, I know that you know this, and soon you will be unable to resist it." She leaned forward as Frodo clutched at the chain about his neck. He pulled the Ring out, as if in a dream, and grasped it firmly in his hand. Lorelei's eyes shifted from Frodo's face to his fist, looking lustfully at that which he clasped. "You hear it, don't you Frodo? Its taunts and promises as it weaves its tendrils about your soul. You will be unable to resist whatever it tells you to do when the Ring deems the time is right," she whispered.

Frodo turned frightened eyes up to hers. "But what can I do to prevent this? I… I would find my own death preferable to the slaying of my friends, Lady," Frodo said.

"I will help you, Frodo, but only if you will do as I say. It will be difficult for you, but it is the only way to avoid this catastrophe," she soothed.

"Anything, Lady, I will do anything to change this course of events."

"You must leave them, Frodo, so that they will be safe," she said.

"But how? Even now my body is broken and sickness rages within it. They are with me always, doing what they can to restore my health. They would never permit me to leave," he said, confused that she would even suggest such a thing.

Lorelei rose abruptly, crossing to the settee in front of the mirror and, once again, took up the brush. "Again I offer advice and again you question it," she said bitterly.

"No, no it is not that, Lorelei, it's just that I do not know if I can do as you suggest. I am unable to move without great pain, especially in my hip, even though you were kind enough to heal it to some degree. I am weakened by illness and lack of food and, as I said, they would never permit me to leave and travel alone," he rushed to explain.

"I will do what I can to help heal your hip further. As to the other issues, the Ranger that travels with you carries a healers pouch if I am not mistaken." Frodo nodded. "Inside this pouch is an herb that will induce sleep if added to their water for tea. Put some of the herb in the water, do not drink of it yourself or you will suffer their fate, then you will be able to easily escape."

"It won't hurt them, my lady? Only make them sleep?"

Lorelei looked at him in the mirror. "You should not be overly concerned about their well-being, Frodo but, no, it will not hurt them. Take the Ring to Saruman, Frodo, he is not your enemy … indeed, he will be your redeemer in matters of the Ring."

Frodo looked at her doubtfully. "Saruman, my lady?"

"Yes, Frodo. He alone is wise enough to guide you on how best to proceed. He will have freed himself from the orcs that Gandalf the Gray has used to enslave him by the time you reach Orthanc. From there, he will take possession of the Ring and see to its destruction. You will then be free to return to your homeland, as will your friends." Frodo gulped, his eyes filling with tears, and looked away. "Do you doubt me once again, Ringbearer?" she said scornfully.

He looked at her closely. He did not feel this was the best course of action, but was at a loss of what to do to make sure his friends would be safe. "No, my lady," he lied. "It's just that…. I…I am badly frightened. I do not know if I can do this thing alone." His voice wavered and he looked up at her reflection beseechingly.

She smiled beatifically over at him. "Of course you can, Frodo. You are much stronger than you appear. You have a steadfast desire to see this through, no matter the consequences, and I will help you in any way that I can," she said lovingly.

Frodo still looked hesitant and Lorelei decided it was time to ensure the hobbit would make the correct choice. She began to languidly brush her hair with the bejeweled brush. Frodo's eyes fixed on the brush as it glided effortlessly through her long tresses. "Your brush, Lorelei, it is so beautiful," he said lazily.

"Yes, it is lovely, isn't it? See how the jewels catch the light? Green, red, blue, white…each stone seems almost as if it is lit from within, does it not?" Her voice dipped low, becoming a mere whisper, without inflection or emotion. "Watch how it slips through my hair effortlessly." Lorelei watched Frodo in the mirror, his eyes beginning to droop and his body to slump. "You are so tired, my friend, settle back and relax. The cushions are soft and you will feel no pain to your injuries. Frodo subconsciously shifted his body to a more comfortable position.

'I am so tired,' Frodo thought to himself. 'Perhaps a short nap is all I need.' He watched the brush make one stroke then another, all the while Lorelei spoke to him, but he could not concentrate on her words as his eyes remained fixed on the comb.

"You are so tired, Frodo. All you can see is the brush and the jewels as they sparkle and twirl, all you can hear is my voice…the voice of your beloved Lorelei," she droned. "You will take the sleeping herb from the Ranger's pouch and place some into the water to be used for tea. Once everyone is asleep, you will slip from the cave and take the Ring to Saruman. Remember the dream, Frodo. If you do not do this, your friends will die…you will kill them. Each time you feel doubt about what you are to do, you will remember the dream. They will die, Frodo, by your hand. Do not tell them of the dream. It will cause them to worry, Frodo. The dream is a secret between yourself and Lorelei. You will take the Ring to Saruman the White. He is wisest of all who live in Middle Earth and will help you. He will be your friend and confidant. He is not your enemy, Frodo; he is your friend. He alone is wise enough to counsel you on affairs of the Ring. Do you understand?" Frodo nodded slowly. Lorelei smiled. "Very good, my friend, now rest…rest… you are so tired. When you wake you will be with your friends." She rose slowly, crossing to the sleeping hobbit, and lightly touched his hip. Frodo sighed as some of the pain ebbed from him. And he slept.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"His fever is lower," Aragorn said solemnly, "but he is far from healed as yet." He sighed. They had been working for the better part of an hour, alternately layering frozen blankets over Frodo then removing them, trying to find a happy medium of comfort for the Ringbearer. The sweat dewed face twisted back and forth on the makeshift pillow as the hobbit fought some unseen foe in some imagined world. He had been in the throes of delirium most of the night and they had each taken turns at watching over him, washing his face and speaking softly words of encouragement in attempts to draw him back to them.

He wiped the forehead again and the blue eyes fluttered open. Frodo looked up into his gray eyes apologetically. "I am sorry, Aragorn, I was not strong enough," he croaked.

Aragorn mistook this to believe that Frodo had decided to cease his struggles with the illness and injuries that riddled his body, and his face showed alarm. "You are doing well, Frodo, don't give up on us yet, my friend," he murmured.

Frodo smiled weakly. "Perhaps some water would change my mind," he jested.

Aragorn grinned, "Very well, but ask no more of me. You drive far to hard a bargain and I am sure you would have me giving you the shirt off of my back next."

As he retrieved a cup he heard, weakly, "Too large for me, I'm afraid." Strider smiled his first smile of genuine joy in days, and brought the cup to the parched lips. Frodo drank thirstily, then fell back again, spent. "You need to continue to rest Frodo, to regain your strength. But first Sam has been very worried, and you realize that when he's worried, he cooks," Strider said with a grin.

"Dear, dear Sam, yes … that does sound like him. I am rather hungry. Do you think he has anything I could eat?"

"Let me check and see, but he did say something about mushroom soup and biscuits last time we spoke." Frodo's eyes lit up and Strider smiled again to see the obvious interest in the menu. He laid Frodo back down and rose, crossing to Sam, Merry and Pippin who were working on the evening meal. Frodo could hear a muffled conversation then Sam was instantly on his feet and running to be at his side.

"MR. FRODO!! Oh, my dear, I've been near frantic about you, sir! You're a mite flushed, but you look perky enough. I've got taters and biscuits and Mr. Legolas has caught us some lovely fowl for dinner," he exclaimed, obviously overjoyed, and quite breathless. His eyes glittered with unshed tears but his grin was huge.

"No….Soup?" Frodo asked with a wan smile.

"Aye, we have soup, sir if'n that's what ya want. It's left over from last night. Deer with potatoes and carrots, garlic and onions, it is," he chuckled.

Frodo frowned. "Aragorn said you had mushroom soup," Frodo glared up at the ranger, who just shrugged and looked innocently at Sam.

Sam giggled, "I can fix that up in a shake. I brought plenty of dried mushrooms with me and I've got all the other things right here by the fire." He jumped to his feet, catching Pippin and a confused Merry, pulling them up with him. He explained and then all three began to dance joyfully in a circle. Sam whispered a few words to them and then there was a flurry of activity as they began fixing Frodo his mushroom soup.

"You lied," Frodo said sternly to the ranger.

Strider smiled. "Yes I did but, to be fair, I really hadn't expected you to show any interest whatsoever in whatever Sam was making. I am only thankful that Sam's pack knows no bounds and that the ingredients were not an issue." He gave Frodo another drink of water while the hobbit mock glared at him. He only chuckled at the look. He rose and retrieved the medicinal tea and Frodo drank a full cup of that as well.

"So, my friend, where have you traveled to? You have been in and out of consciousness for a day, and your dreams seemed most troubled," the Ranger asked surreptitiously. He began to examine Frodo's arm and ribs and then listened to the hobbit's breathing. He nodded to himself, satisfied that the Ringbearer seemed to be healing at last.

As he moved to the hip he looked up into Frodo's eyes. All signs of frivolity were gone and Frodo's face was very pale. He frowned and was about to speak when the hobbit beat him to it. "I…I feel much better. I have no memory of my dreams," he lied.

The Ringbearer had such a sweet, innocent face…his eyes a window to his soul and Aragorn immediately detected the falsehood. He imagined Frodo as a child trying to fib to his Uncle Bilbo and suspected that he had seldom been successful. "I see. Are you in a lot of pain still, Frodo? How is your breathing? Easier?" he asked cautiously.

"It is much better, thank you, Aragorn. I can breath almost normally now. It just feels like a summer cold."

Aragorn had unwrapped the hip by now and gasped. "How is this possible?" He exclaimed. He had rocked back on his heels, a look of amazement suffusing his face. "Frodo, I had heard tales that hobbits healed at an accelerated rate, but this…this is not physically possible." He peered into Frodo's eyes. Was that guilt he saw? But what would Frodo have to be guilty of? He could not have done this wondrous thing. His brow furrowed. "Your hip is almost completely healed, Frodo. Do you know how this could have happened?" He watched his friend's face closely and waited.

"Of course not, Aragorn. What would I know of such things? It must be all that tea you've been pouring down my throat every 5 minutes," Frodo tried to joke, but his eyes did not meet Aragorn's, and the ranger had his answer.

'He's lying,' Aragorn thought in amazement, but why? And how was this possible when Frodo had never left them and no other being had been near him? He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end – Saruman, or one of his minions. Somehow, someone had healed Frodo's hip, but why would they do such a thing, unless they wanted something of Frodo. The Ring…. Of course! Someone was manipulating their Ringbearer and needed him mobile to do their bidding. Aragorn's stomach twisted into a knot. He would have to speak with Gandalf further on this, he thought to himself. He pasted a smile on his face as he slowly bent the leg up, testing its strength and watching for any sign of discomfort from Frodo. There was a grimace but, normally this kind of injury took many months to completely cure, and there was no other possible explanation to the miracle than that some powerful being had intervened on the hobbit's behalf.

"You have almost full mobility, although I wager it will still be painful to walk on, which I expressly forbid you to do. We don't want to take any chances on you taking a fall and re-injuring it, do we?" Aragorn murmured.

Frodo shook is head. He looked into Aragorn's eyes and knew, without a doubt, that the ranger was on to him. He had never been a good liar and, although Aragorn had not pressed him, he knew that he also did not believe him. He felt guilty at having to lie to his friends, but knew that if he were successful in the deception, that they would be safe—'safe from me', he thought or, at least, the Frodo of his nightmare.

Aragorn rose slowly. "You should rest, Frodo. I will wake you when the meal is ready…your mushroom soup," he said with a grin.

Frodo smiled. They were too kind to him. At the moment he was painfully aware that he did not deserve such treatment. "Thank you, Aragorn, for everything," he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. "I will always remember the kindness that you have shown me, and your friendship." His eyes slipped slowly shut of their own accord, and soon he was lost to the world of slumber. His last thoughts were of his friends, and he felt a sense of relief and contentment knowing that they would be safe.

Aragorn walked slowly over to Gandalf, "I have grave concerns for our Ringbearer. I believe he has been manipulated into actions that will prove hazardous to his very life," he said.

"Yes, I have felt this as well. I cannot enter into his dreams until he is stronger. To do so would threaten his very sanity. I am concerned that Saruman will have him so completely under his spell that he will not allow me to join thoughts with him," the Istari murmured.

"Is it so necessary to have Frodo concede on this matter? Can you not join with him without his consent?" The ranger said worriedly.

"I can. But it is more difficult to do so. The strain may be too much for him." The wizard looked worriedly over at the sleeping Ringbearer. "But if I must I will do so if only to free him of this influence and allow him to truly heal."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few days showed much improvement in Frodo's health. He still had the persistent fever but was gradually able to tolerate solid foods and his strength slowly came back to him. As he regained his strength, he was filled with a feeling of dread, knowing that soon he would be forced to subdue his friends and journey on without them. Aragorn had begun to leave his healer's pouch next to where Frodo slept and one night, after the ranger had examined his injuries, Frodo palmed the pouch of Valerian root. He was sure the healer would notice and was relieved when Aragorn, rummaging through the pouch, did not miss the drug.

Each night one of the Fellowship was into the habit of having one of its members sleep nearby. Frodo thought this would be a hindrance to his plans, but two days after his awakening from his encounter with Lorelei, Pippin decided it was his turn to sleep next to his cousin. Pippin could never stay awake, no matter how he tried. It was one of the reasons he seldom drew guard duty. The youngling would nod off after only a couple of hours and it was no different this night. He curled up next to Frodo and the warmth and comfort of his cousin's nearness soon had him fast asleep.

Gimli was on guard this night and Frodo was grateful for that fact. The dwarf only had eyes for movements outside the cave entrance and had long sense learned to disregard any sounds from his comrades, thinking them to be only the movements of slumber.

Frodo slowly disengaged himself from his mound of blankets and began to rise. His arm and leg throbbed painfully as he began his slow crawl towards the fire and the pot of water Sam had placed on a rock near the coals. He looked nervously around at the sleeping forms before pouring a healthy portion of the contents of the pouch into the kettle. He frowned, worried that he had put too much or, perhaps not enough, into the tea water. He wanted to induce sleep so that he could make his escape but he didn't want to put so much in that he would harm his friends. Aragorn mumbled in his sleep and turned over. Frodo's heart nearly leapt from his chest, sure that he had been discovered, but the ranger resumed the slow, steady breathing of one who was asleep. He glanced at the rest of the Fellowship to make sure he was not being observed, giving the mouth of the cave one more glance, seeing that Gimli still faced outward, oblivious of what was transpiring. Frodo slowly crawled back to his bedroll, panting from the effort, his heart racing. He curled up on his side, tears in his eyes for what he had done, and dropped off into an uneasy doze.

The next morning Sam rose early, as usual, in order to prepare tea and breakfast for the group. It was a duty that he took very seriously, even enjoying the few moments of peace before Pippin and Merry would begin to pester him about how long it would be until breakfast. Frodo had slept little and now he watched as Sam hummed to himself, moving around the campfire and stoking the blaze to life. He placed the kettle in the coals to heat the water for tea. Soon he had a pan sizzling with salted pork and potatoes with gravy. The smells roused the remaining members of the Fellowship and they began to rise, one by one, murmuring morning greetings to each other.

When the tea was ready Sam dutifully poured cups for each of the members. Frodo watched to see if anyone would notice a strange aftertaste to the brew, but no one made comment and drank the beverage as usual.

Sam brought him a plate of food and a cup of tea. "Here you go Mr. Frodo. Now, you eat up and I'll be back soon to see that it's all gone," he said with a wink.

Frodo reached out and captured his friends' sleeve. "Sam, I haven't told you recently how very much I appreciate all that you do for me. I was against you coming with me at first, because of the danger, but you need to know how glad I am that you did. You have been a comfort and a true friend even when I was not exactly at my best," Frodo said earnestly.

Sam frowned, wondering at his Master's emotional state. "Not at all, Master. I couldn't let you go into the unknown alone," he said slowly. He squeezed Frodo's hand and left to serve the rest of the Fellowship.

Pippin yawned widely. "I am still so sleepy, I think I'll just curl up here and take a nap, if that's alright with you, cousin," he said groggily.

"Of course, Pippin. You just rest for a bit," Frodo said lovingly touching the tousled curls one last time.

One by one each of the members of the group began to nod and then, at last, drop off into a drug induced sleep. When Frodo was satisfied that they were all unconscious, he slowly rose from his bedroll. A wave of nausea and dizziness immediately assaulted him and he panicked, thinking he would not be strong enough to leave the cave. But gradually his body steadied and he limped painfully across the cave. He stopped at each member of the Fellowship and said his goodbyes. When he came to Aragorn he bent down and touched the man's forehead.

"Forgive me, my friend, but I have to do this so that you will all be safe," he murmured. Aragorn's eyes slipped slowly open and Frodo's heart leapt in his throat.

"Frodo, why are you out of bed?" the ranger said slowly. "You should not be up." He shook his head trying to rouse himself. "Why am I so sleepy?" he asked.

"I am sorry, Aragorn, but I had to make sure you would not try and stop me," Frodo said quietly.

"Frodo, no…you … you cannot. Do not…. do not do this thing, I implore you."

"You cannot follow me, Aragorn. This is something I have to do alone, and you cannot protect me any longer," Frodo said, tearfully.

The ranger tried to reach out and capture one of Frodo's hands but his arms felt so heavy and fell useless by his side. His eyes drifted shut and he was helpless to the effects of the drug as he fell asleep.

Frodo leaned against the cave wall, pushing himself upright, and slowly made his way to the cave entrance. He glanced back one last time before pulling his cloak closer about him and slipped out into the blizzard.

Tbc.


	14. The Battle

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Sorry, this is a really LONG chapter. But on the up side about half is acknowledgements to the reviewers…so there's hope, right?

Chapter 14

The Battle

The men had made it part of their daily routine to attempt to plow through the overwhelming amounts of snow that would be dumped overnight, on the narrow ledge called the Redhorn Pass. They had hoped that, if Frodo improved, they would be able to make their way back down the mountain and so, each morning, they forced their way through the nearly impenetrable snow banks, retracing their steps until the snow was packed down. Initially, they had tried to go towards the Pass itself, but invariably the blizzard would increase in ferocity until the gale force winds and the inability to see a hand when held before their eyes, would force them to admit defeat and head back down the trail.

Frodo was bent nearly double as he headed into the wind, aiming for the lowlands of Hollin where the climb had begun. He had found a hobbit sized walking stick on the trail and used it to augment his precarious balance and ease the throbbing pain in his hip. He had fallen a couple of times, lying in the snow and wondering if he would ever be able to bear placing weight on the injured joint again. Always he had somehow, managed to right himself but his body now trembled violently from exhaustion and the constant agony.

One more step, he kept telling himself, just one more step, Frodo. Soon you will be out of the snow and on drier land, but it had been hours since he had left the cave and still he was caught in the thick of it. He felt as if he had traveled many leagues from his friends, but knew that this was only wishful thinking, that the storm and the poor traveling conditions had made the going very slow and that he was, at most, no more than a league, probably much less, from his companions. He slipped and fell hard on his injured hip, screaming like an injured animal, which, in actuality, was what he was. He could not move save to roll onto his back and pray that he would lose consciousness. He began to sob bitterly, knowing that if he did not put some distance between himself and the Fellowship, they would come after him, and he could not allow that to happen because he knew then that they would be at his, and the Ring's, mercy. His eyes slowly closed and even though he knew the dangers of hypothermia, he had no strength remaining in which to fight the somnolence that overtook him. 'Better I die this way than be the cause of my friends' deaths,' was his last coherent thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn was caught in the throes of a vivid dream. He dreamt he was asleep and, all around him, chaos reigned. People were screaming and running all about his prone figure. Orcs and black riders easily picking them off, spearing them on jagged pikes or tossing them like rag dolls from the high buildings. He struggled to make his arms and legs obey his commands but he could not force his body to wake so that he might help them. He knew that if he were unable to rouse himself soon, all would perished and that, deep down, they were his responsibility.

The worst part was that he *knew* he was dreaming and that if he could just wake up, the dream would end. But his brain seemed incapable of sending the message to his muscles leaving him helplessly locked inside its shell. He was covered in sweat as he swung his head from side to side. Finally, he was able to get his eyes to open and, looking about him at the other members of the Fellowship and seeing no sign of Frodo, knew that, the hobbit had perpetrated the perfect escape.

Groggy and deciding that the cold might be the only way to bring himself to full consciousness, he leaned over, grasped his sword, and using it as a cane, rose. He staggered slowly towards the cave entrance and slipped outside into the freezing storm. The snow covered him in a matter of minutes, clinging to his face, arms and hair. At last he began to feel true consciousness returning to him. His thoughts were still badly muddled, but at least his body was his own again and he planned to put it through its paces as soon as he had awakened the others. He went back into the cave, re-stoked the fire and retrieved three of Sam's cook pots. He filled these with snow and sat them on the coals. Once the snow was melted, he exited the cave and poured the ice water over his head. The frigid water caused him to gasp out loud and his head to pound painfully. He reloaded the pots with more snow and, again, set them by the fire.

He was fully awake now, and crossed to Sam, Merry and Pippin. He felt at each of their throats for a pulse, all were slow but steady. He pulled Pippin to his feet and tried to get the limp hobbit to wake. Pippin was completely un-reactive so he carried him outside and rubbed snow on the back of his neck and down his shirt. A groan. He laid the hobbit in the snow and retrieved the ice water and, after scooping the small figure into his arms, began to pour the water over Pippin's hair.

"Oi, what doyathinyerdoin?" the green eyed hobbit cried plaintively.

"Saving your life, Master Took," Aragorn grumbled. Once Pippin was able to stare owlishly up at him, he took him back inside and told him to walk around the fire. He retrieved Sam and another pan of ice water on his way back to the mouth of the cave. An angry howl caused Pippin to look in Sam's direction just as Aragorn brought the frozen gardener back inside. Aragorn repeated this with Merry until all three hobbits were staggering like drunkards about the cave.

"Where's Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked groggily, looking about and not seeing his Master. This proved to be a much better stimulant than the ice water and immediately his eyes filled with panic.

"He's gone, Sam," Aragorn said distractedly, trying to encourage a heavy lidded Boromir to walk.

Sam was past him in a flash and heading into the storm. Aragorn attempted, unsuccessfully, to reach out and stop the hobbit, losing his precarious hold on the Gondorian and causing the man to fall in a heap at the doorway. "Sam!" he yelled into the blizzard.

"I gotta find him. He won't last two minutes in this," cried the anguished hobbit.

"And neither will you, Master Gamgee. I will find Frodo, but I have to make sure everyone is awake first and without the lingering effects of the drug," Aragorn said hurriedly, gesturing back towards the cave. He grasped Sam's arm and began to steer him towards the others. "Sam, I do not have time to argue with you. I *will* retrieve Frodo, but the more you struggle and fight me, the longer it will take to do so.

Sam let out a heartbreaking sob as he allowed Aragorn to carry him back into the cave. "I promise Sam, we will find him and bring him back. You have my word, my friend," Aragorn whispered to his distraught friend.

"You promise?" Sam asked meekly.

Aragorn smiled. "On my honor," he patted the gardener on the shoulder as he set him down and Sam walked over to Merry and Pippin, who were both visibly swaying on their feet, watching the two. Aragorn dragged Boromir outside and doused him with the melted snow. The man came back inside, a confused frown on his face. Together they took each of the remaining members out and repeated the whole procedure. Soon, all of the Fellowship, minus Frodo, was walking slowly about the cave.

Aragorn stood in their midst and one by one they stopped to stare at him. Each person had a different look on his face - fear, astonishment, confusion and concern over Frodo. "Frodo has left. I am leaving in a moment to bring him back. I know that each of you wishes to come with me but I am only going to take Legolas." Boromir gave the elf a disgusted look.

"We all have strengths, Aragorn, could not one of the rest of us go instead?" The Gondorian grumbled.

"It has nothing to do with personal favoritism, Boromir. Legolas has keen eyesight, and I will need it if we are to find Frodo quickly and bring him back. I would, however, ask if I might borrow your furred cloak?"

Boromir smiled, appeased, "Of course."

Gandalf stepped forward. "Aragorn, how did this happen?" he asked.

Aragorn frowned. "I do not know for certain, only that when I retrieved my healers pouch I found this," he held out the open pouch of Valerian. "I would never have left it thus, an open invitation to a certain young Took. I believe Frodo spiked our water and then, once we were asleep, made his escape."

"Saruman must have told him that he was endangering his friends and kin, it is the only explanation for Frodo's behavior. I do not believe he would be parted from them unless he feared for their very lives," Gandalf said.

"No doubt. But now it is he that is in grave danger. We must be away, soon, or I fear for his life."

"Be wary, Aragorn. Saruman will do all that he can to secure the Ring for himself. He will not hesitate to harm you or Frodo to achieve his means," Gandalf urgently whispered.

Aragorn reached into the healer's pouch, withdrawing a small bag. "Make a tea for everyone, using this herb. It will help to counteract the sedating affects of the Valerian Root." He looked over at the hobbits. "Make sure that the hobbits have at least two cups. Frodo did not know how much of the Valerian to use to bring about unconsciousness, and unwittingly placed the other hobbits in danger." At the look of alarm in Gandalf's eyes, he smiled. "No, they will be fine if they drink some of this tea. Do not give them too much, Gandalf, because it will make them shaky and agitated."

Gandalf rolled his eyes. "That is all that we need now… a jittery Took," he sighed. Aragorn could not help but chuckle.

He stowed the healers pouch in his pack and, after he and Legolas had donned their cloaks and weapons, swung it over his shoulder and made for the mouth of the cave. Sam ran after them, holding a blanket and water container in his hands. He handed these to Legolas with a smile.

Legolas grinned, a look of shocked surprise covering his face. "Sam, this water bag is warm."

"Aye, I poured the new tea into the pouch. If'n you keep it under your cloak, Mr. Legolas, it should stay hot for some time. You make sure Mr. Frodo drinks all of it, won't you?" He asked worriedly.

Legolas nodded, "I will Sam, and don't worry, we will return shortly." With that, they ducked outside and were immediately swallowed up by the raging blizzard.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Frodo awoke to find he was lying on the intricately tiled floor of Lorelei's chambers. 'How did I come to be in such an undignified position?' he thought to himself, as he slowly tried to rise. A stabbing pain knifed its way from his hip down his leg and he let out a blood-curdling scream.

Lorelei appeared above him, glaring down at him as if he were a common roach. "Get up! GET UP!!" She yelled at him.

"I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot. I have re-injured my hip and I have not the strength to carry on. I am sorry, Lorelei, that I have disappointed you," he gasped.

"Get up, you stupid, worthless hobbit! The Ring *must* be taken to Saruman immediately," she screamed. Frodo pulled instinctively back from her. This was not the Lorelei that he had grown to worship and admire in his dreams. This creature was a crazed imitation, a frightening caricature of that gentle and demure spirit. Frodo had not been this afraid of anything since the Black Riders had chased them onto the ferry.

Tears filled his eyes. "But…but…I thought you liked me, wanted to help me," he heard himself whine.

Lorelei attempted visibly, to achieve some vestige of control, but succeeded only in sounding sarcastic and disdainful. "Of course, Frodo, where *are* my manners? Of course I am concerned for only your well-being. If you do not get up you will freeze to death and then Middle Earth would be easy prey for Sauron. That is why I am being a bit rough with you. I have to make certain that you awake and move onward to Orthanc, to meet with Saruman so that he might … ummm…. *guide* you on what needs to be done to rid the world of the Ring." She smiled, but the smile did not touch her eyes and Frodo could tell that the lady was fighting to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

"I cannot go on, Lady. I am not strong enough for this task. Perhaps, once I am recovered…"

"NO. You will get up NOW, Ringbearer, or pay the consequences!" She shouted, her façade cracking as she lost control. Her eyes became darkest black and the small bead about her neck pulsed with first orange, then a bright red fire. Again Frodo tried to move away from her, his heart hammering within his chest, as he witnessed the transformation of the once beautiful maiden into a malicious, lustful creature. Lorelei brought her staff up and pointed it at his prone body. "I will teach you to disobey Lorelei," she sneered, a look of pure malevolence filling her eyes.

Frodo's body arched up off of the floor as fresh spasms of pain pulsed through every nerve. His arm, his leg, his chest… all felt as if they would explode with the sheer intensity of the torture. Frodo pitched his body to and fro, writhing in agony and screaming until he thought his voice would give out or he would, hopefully, loose consciousness.

"Oh no, Frodo, I will not let you escape so easily," she said her voice venomous.

"Lorelei, please…. please, I beg of you, release me or let me die, but do not continue this, please," he screamed. A wicked cackle was the only response he received.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As soon as they exited the warmth of the cave, they pulled their hoods up so that their faces were all but covered against the wind. They hurriedly plowed their way through the new drifts, heading down the pass. Periodically they would stop to see if anything could be seen of the Ringbearer, but the snow was coming down so thick and so fast that trying to see more than a few feet in front of them was impossible. A blood-curdling scream rent the air and both elf and man could feel the hair rise on the back of their necks.

"That was a cry of pain, Legolas. Quickly, we must find him before it is too late!" They began to run, unmindful to their own safety, only thinking of finding their friend and giving him aid. Finally, Legolas stopped, causing the Ranger to bump into the elve's back. He pointed and shouted to be heard over the wind, "I see something ahead on the path. I cannot say what it is, but it appears to be a piece of cloth." Aragorn nodded and they increased their pace to intercept the object.

It was a piece of cloth. And underneath it lay the frozen body of their comrade. Aragorn quickly shed his own cloak and removed Boromir's protected one. He gently rolled Frodo to his back, causing the hobbit to cry out in pain. 'A good sign, at least he still lives,' thought Aragorn. He checked for a pulse and sighed as he felt the steady thrum of Frodo's life beat. He hurriedly lifted the hobbit and wrapped him within the folds of the furred cloak, then handed him to Legolas.

"Are you not coming with me, Aragorn?" Asked the puzzled elf.

"I will follow as quickly as is possible. You are lighter of foot and can get Frodo to safety faster than I. Fly; fly as fast as you can, Legolas. Take him to Gandalf as fast as you may, and place him by the fire."

Before Legolas departed, the water pouch was extracted and a trickle of the hot tea was dispensed between Frodo's blue lips. The hobbit swallowed slowly. They continued to feed him the tea until most of the liquid was imbibed. Legolas carefully covered the hobbit and began to run smoothly back up the mountain and towards shelter.

As Legolas approached the cave, he was greeted with the sound of raucous singing. He saw that Merry and Pippin were sitting in a far off corner belting out a bawdy limerick about two maids in the company of two dwarves as Gimli grimaced in disgust. Wild giggling followed. Boromir commenced an animated discussion on the advantages of the sword over the axe to the already irritated dwarf. Legolas could not repress a smile knowing that if something were not done quickly the two would come to blows, but made his focus Frodo instead of the impending fisticuffs. The atmosphere of the Fellowship stilled as he entered the shelter with his heavily wrapped burden. He moved smoothly to the fire, laying the frozen Ringbearer beside it and looked anxiously towards the cave entrance for Aragorn.

Gandalf appeared at the elf's side, placing a gnarled hand on Frodo's forehead as he sat back on his haunches. Aragorn entered the cave breathing heavily from his race up the mountain, and quickly knelt beside the hobbit. He carefully unwrapped his friend and began to examine him. "He is in remarkably good shape considering the freezing temperatures and his weakened condition," he said rising. He studied the trembling and still unconscious Ringbearer. Frodo wept quietly, twisting back and forth, trying to escape Aragorn's hands as they carefully moved over his body, checking for any further injury.

"He'll be alright then, Strider?" a highly agitated Sam asked as he shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. He held a dripping ladle in his right hand.

"I believe so, Sam. How he was able to get as far as he did is still a mystery to me."

Pippin snorted then hurriedly covered his mouth. When all eyes lit on him questioningly, he went on to explain. "You obviously haven't heard of the famed Baggins stubbornness," he chortled. He became silent once again as he looked down at the deathly pale countenance of his cousin.

"No, but I have experienced it. I am glad to see it is useful other than to fight me at every turn, when I try to dispense one of my foul tasting teas," Aragorn said smiling.

Gandalf looked up at the healer. "Is he strong enough, Aragorn?" he asked softly. All present looked between the two in confusion.

Aragorn frowned. "I do not know, my friend. He seems to be holding his own. His fever is all but gone, the one saving grace of his journey in the cold. His lungs sound clear, his hip is all but healed, which I am at a loss to explain. The swelling in his arm is also much reduced. He is suffering from exposure to the cold, but I believe a fire and a hearty meal is all that is needed to remedy that." He looked at the wizard, concerned. "What are the risks, Gandalf?"

"Here now, risks of what? What 'er you talkin' about? What are you plannin' to do to my Master?" A protective Sam interjected. "I don't rightly like the sound of what you and Mr. Gandalf are talkin' about, whatever it is," he said emphatically.

"We're trying to decide, my dear gardener, whether Frodo can withstand my presence in his mind."

"You can do that? Go into his head and all? Why 'aven't you done it before?" Sam's eyes grew wide.

"We deemed Frodo was not strong enough or willing enough to accept my interference. Plus I have never done this with a hobbit, Sam. There could be some danger to Frodo, if I am not careful. I hope to help Frodo to overcome the influence that Saruman is apparently holding over him." The wizard tried to explain.

Sam swallowed nervously. "You won't hurt him none, will you sir? He's been through so much already," he said his voice wavering.

Gandalf smiled, he hoped reassuringly. "I do not know, Sam. All I can say is that I care for him dearly, not unlike you or his cousins, and will try to be as gentle as possible."

Aragorn had pulled Frodo into his lap and bundled him into more blankets. He was slowly spooning warmed tea between the blue lips. Frodo swallowed reflexively and gradually his trembling began to subside.

Gandalf gazed at the too pale face of Bilbo's nephew. "It is time to free him from whatever holds him so tenaciously within its grasp. When he wakes, call for me. I will be in meditation until that time." He rose slowly after smoothing the hair back from Frodo's forehead. He stopped at the fire beside Frodo's cousins, drawing them to him. Aragorn watched, as the Istari wrapped them within his robes and murmured comfortingly. Merry and Pippin slumped against the wizard and Aragorn could hear their suppressed sobs intermingled with quiet questions. After speaking softly to them for a time, he rose and crossed to a far corner of the room, sat down facing the wall and drew out his pipe. He began to smoke, lost in quiet contemplation.

Frodo's eyes crept open and he licked at his cracked lips. "Where…?" he said in a barely audible whisper.

Aragorn smiled down at his friend. "Safe with your friends, Frodo. You are indeed, a remarkable hobbit, making such an escape. I *do* think we should have a candid conversation, however, concerning the sanctity of the healers pouch when you are feeling better." His tone was light, but Frodo could tell that he was in for a rather heated discourse on the topic once he was stronger.

"I… had to. I am sorry. Is everyone alright?" his question was so quiet that had Aragorn not been hovering over him, he would not have heard it.

"They are well enough. Sam is beyond frantic, Merry and Pippin are pacing back and forth like caged animals. Otherwise, everything is as usual, Frodo. We are all very concerned for you, my friend," he said with a small smile. The healer looked nervously over at the meditating wizard. "Gandalf is going to help you, Frodo. I encourage you to do whatever he asks. This has gone on long enough and will now end, one way or the other," he said sternly. The blue eyes that gazed up at him looked apprehensive at this bit of information. "I will let him tell you of his plans."

Frodo began to ask what he meant but Aragorn silenced him with a look. "You should rest while you can, Frodo. You will need all of your strength for what is ahead." He slowly lowered the confused hobbit onto the pallet and although Frodo fought against slumber, fatigue and exhaustion won out and his limbs became dead weight. His brow furrowed one last time then his eyes closed and he slipped into the surreal world of the dreamer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sometime later, Gandalf rose and crossed to the sleeping hobbit. He knelt down and with a touch of his hand to Frodo's forehead the blue eyes opened.

"What…what are you going to do, Gandalf?" Frodo asked anxiously.

"Fear not, my friend. I am going to help you," Gandalf said quietly. "I only wish to join you as you dream and see what devilry is at work."

"But…there is no devilry, Gandalf, I assure you," Frodo said nervously.

"Ah, my dearest of hobbits, I do not agree. I believe you are being deceived by Saruman to do his bidding. I do not know what form he has presented to you, undoubtedly one that appears harmless and beguiling, but it *is* Saruman or, at the very worst, Sauron that greets you as you slumber."

"No. It is only Lorelei, no other. She is gentle and beautiful and only means to help me on my quest," Frodo said, as his body began to twist in pain.

"Lorelei, an apt name, Frodo. Do you know what Lorelei means, my friend?" Gandalf said seriously.

"It is but a name, nothing more," Frodo said, gasping as a particularly sharp pain stabbed at his arm.

"No, Frodo, it is a siren. A lure to entice you to do her bidding," Gandalf said solemnly. "I am your friend, and I shall always be so. Your Lorelei is but a seductress, a phantasm, no more. Even now she seeks to remind you of your obeisance. Do you not find it odd that each time you try to bind yourself to your friends or seek to do what is good … even as you speak of her to me now, that your body is afflicted? She seeks to remind you to do her bidding. She cares not for you and your welfare."

Frodo remembered the brief glimpses of the aged and gnarled hands, the taste of the seed cakes and the tea. He remembered the spasms of pain that wracked his body whenever he chose to eat that which he was offered by the Fellowship, the agony dealt as a blow whenever he disagreed with her advise, the brush - the brush with the strangely hypnotic jewels. Lastly, he remembered the image of Lorelei's twisted, malevolent face, the blackened eyes, the orb about her neck and the subsequent torture delivered maliciously and gleefully as he lay on the mountain, unable to go further. He shuddered at the thought and looked uncertainly up at the wizard who he had called friend since he was a lad. The look of love and concern in Gandalf's eyes warmed him as no look from Lorelei ever had and, in a heartbeat he had made his decision, feeling a sudden wave of relief wash over him. He nodded and smiled wanly up at Gandalf, who returned his smile with one of his own. "You have chosen well, as I knew you would, Frodo," he said warmly.

"Close your eyes, Frodo."

Frodo closed his eyes and a warm, tingling sensation envelope his body. His mind was seized with the image of an enraged Lorelei, her face contorted and twisted, no longer the vision of loveliness he had grown accustomed to. But there was more, something he had not seen before. Fear. He saw fear in her eyes. She screamed at him within his mind, "NOOO! You gave your word, Ringbearer!" She screamed at him, a look of panic suffusing her face, leveling her staff on his prone form. Frodo screamed and arched his body up off of the bedding, excruciating pain coursing through him.

Sam crossed to his master in a heartbeat. "Mr. Frodo! You're hurtin' him! Let 'em go!" he shouted, moving to intercede. Gandalf's eyes were closed and he was beyond hearing the gardener's anguished cries.

"No, Sam, let it be," Aragorn said as the gardener lunged forward. All stood about the two, looks of horror on their faces. None interceded knowing that a fierce battle was now underway and that they were helpless to assist their friends.

Lorelei swore and continued to direct all her energies at the agonized hobbit. Frodo's eyes were wide, his mouth open in a silent scream, as his body experienced pain beyond anything he had ever endured before.

Gandalf eased himself into the hobbit's vision, seeing the form of the siren before him, her staff aimed at the prone figure of the writhing hobbit. "ENOUGH!" He commanded, pointing his staff at the figure.

Frodo's agonized movements slowed, the pain leaving his body as fast as it had come. He gazed up at the imposing figure that stood in front of him. Gandalf, if indeed it was Gandalf, wreathed in a halo of intense blue light. Gone were the ragged gray robes, replaced with those of brightest white. They covered a person completely changed in feature and form. This person, who now came to his defense, had dark flowing hair and his face was devoid of the wrinkles and the careworn appearance that Frodo had grown to know so well. If it had not been for the light gray eyes and the rough, booming voice, he would not have recognized his wizard friend.

"Show your true form!" Gandalf demanded.

"You have no power over me, Gandalf the Grey. I take *this* one for my own, and you can do naught to stop me," sneered Lorelei.

"You are wrong, Lorelei, or should I say, Saruman?"

Lorelei's eyes widened then filled with malicious intent. "I *am* Saruman the white. You are my inferior in every way, Olorin, you with your limited powers!" She laughed evilly and before Frodo's astonished eyes, changed into the imposing form of Saruman.

"No longer white, I think," Gandalf said tersely. "I am a stronger and more deadly foe than you have been brought to believe."

With that said, Gandalf pointed his staff at the other wizard and sent him reeling backwards into a flying heap. Saruman rose quickly and delivered a powerful surge from his own staff, but Gandalf stood firm merely groaning and swaying on his feet. Frodo scuttled away from the battling Istari, at last secreting himself under the vanity that had previously served Lorelei's purposes. He watched, wide eyed, as the two wizards grappled fiercely with one another. Back and forth the blows rang, each player in the duel eliciting surprised cries and groans as they were struck. A particularly powerful thrust was directed at Gandalf, throwing him from his feet and onto his back. His staff flew from his hands and he was left defenseless, his lips pulled back into a rictus of pain.

Saruman was instantly over him, glaring down at the fallen wizard. "Now we will see who is the more powerful, old friend," he said, smiling evilly.

Without thought for himself, only for his comrade, Frodo looked quickly about his temporary sanctuary for anything that could be used as a weapon in defense of his friend. His eyes lit upon the dazzling brush that Lorelei had so languidly brushed her hair with, entrancing the Ringbearer into doing what she bid. The irony of using the brush against Saruman was not lost on the hobbit.

Those who are acquainted with hobbits know that they are keen of eye and should be avoided should a rock be placed in their hands. Almost any projectile will do, and either used alone or with slingshots, can be thrown with deadly accuracy by almost any Shire dweller, even down to the smallest of tots. Frodo was no different. He grasped the brush and, setting his jaw, took aim. He let loose the brush in a mighty arc. It sailed across the room with a whoosh, striking Saruman squarely in the forehead.

The wizard's face contorted into one of pain and surprise as he sank, first to his knees then over onto his side in a heap, unconscious.

Frodo closed his eyes in relief and released his breath. Then he rose and ran to Gandalf's side. The wizard lay on his side, his eyes open, and a satisfied smile on his lips. "You have done well, Frodo. It was always you who had the ability to defeat Saruman and his evil, and you have done well."

Frodo smiled widely. "Are you injured? Can you rise?" He asked worriedly.

"I am well. In fact, I feel better than I have in days," the wizard said with a chuckle. He rose slowly and looked down at Frodo. "And you, Frodo, are you well, my friend?"

Frodo smiled. "I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I cannot explain it, but I almost feel as if I could dance the spring-dingle or do a reel at one of Bilbo's parties." He looked back up at his friend in astonishment. "How could I not have recognized him? How could I have been so blind?" His facial expression turned to one of shame and remorse.

"Saruman's voice is sweet and seductive. Only the very strongest of beings, myself included, would be able to resist him. Do not berate yourself for falling under his spell, dear friend." The wizard looked concernedly down at the hobbit and they began to slowly make their way out of the room. Frodo looked back at the fallen wizard nervously.

"But what of Saruman, Gandalf? Will he come after us… or me?" he whispered anxiously.

"No Frodo, although I doubt we have seen the last of him or his ilk, he will have no more power over you in your dreams now that you are aware of his presence and his abilities." He noticed that Frodo was limping and that the hobbit's face seemed drawn and pale. "Frodo, would you allow me to carry you?" He asked gently.

Frodo nodded weakly as the wizard scooped him up into his robes. "I feel so odd," Frodo murmured.

"Now that the battle is over and Lorelei unveiled, your injuries are manifesting themselves once again," Gandalf explained softly.

"You… you don't look like Gandalf," Frodo said dreamily. "Your hair and face…all is changed. And he called you Olorin…." The hobbit continued.

Gandalf chuckled, causing Frodo to smile at the sound and feel of the rumble of the wizard's chest against his cheek. "You are one of the very few who have ever seen me in my true form. I am sorry Frodo, but I will have to take this small memory with me when we awaken."

Frodo looked up into the gray eyes questioningly. "But why, Gandalf? I rather like seeing you in this form. It's you, but it's not you…. the eyes and voice are the same but the hair and beard…" his small hand gently touched the wizard's cheek.

Gandalf looked wistfully down at the brave hobbit. "Someday, perhaps, you will see me in this form again but, for now, I must remain the gray pilgrim that you have come to know. It was the will of the Valar to make us old and gray so that the young would listen to our voices. That is how I shall remain, as your old friend Gandalf…just an old man in a large pointy hat, for the remainder of my days in Middle Earth."

This made Frodo sad, for some reason, and he leaned against the Istari a little closer. They entered the corridor where the vines had clawed and whispered maliciously at him, and he tensed. "Fear not, Frodo, they have gone as well. Nothing will harm you further, not while I am with you," Gandalf crooned. At last, they came to the bottom of the steps in Bilbo's cellar and Frodo looked confusedly around him.

"But why … why is this still here?" he asked.

Gandalf chuckled. "Not all of what you see is of Saruman's making. Some of this," he gestured with his hand, "is from *your* memories, Frodo."

As they reached the top of the stairs and opened the door into Bilbo's kitchen Frodo said sleepily "I do not believe I will ever be able to go down into Bilbo's cellar again." He looked up into the ageless gray eyes. "Thank you, Gandalf … Olorin … for releasing me," he said softly.

Gandalf smiled lovingly down at Frodo. "You are most welcome, my friend, although it was not I, but you, that saved the day." With that he lightly touched Frodo's forehead and the hobbit's eyes slipped closed, his head falling limply back. "Sleep well, my friend." Gandalf murmured and then he stepped through the doorway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The friends that stood vigil around the two felt suddenly lighter of heart. They watched as the sleeping form of the great wizard gathered the smaller form of the hobbit within his voluminous robes, pulling Frodo protectively to him. There was a look of total serenity upon their faces and the Fellowship smiled in satisfaction and relief, knowing that the battle was over and that their friend had been returned to them once again.

TBC


	15. Tempers Flare

This is just a bit of fun I had when the story was originally written. It seems I was tardy on quite a few of my updates so I wrote this chapter where the Fellowship expresses their displeasure with the author...

Chapter 12b

Tempers Flare

I stand before the Fellowship in disgrace. Frodo sits at the end of the long couch, Sam to his left, followed by Aragorn and Gandalf. Seated on the loveseat are Boromir, and Gimli with Pippin and Merry on the back of the sofa. Legolas is conspicuously absent. Frodo looks at me in disgust. His arms are crossed over his chest as he gives me a deadly blue- eyed stare. When he sees me looking at him admiringly, he merely turns his face away with a harrumph. I am feeling decidedly uncomfortable standing before them in my shorts and tee shirt. Pippin ogles my white legs. He leans over to Merry and whispers, "Merry, she's wearing naught but her small clothes." Merry merely nods as he gives me a disapproving stare.

"We are most displeased with your untimely entry of the next chapter, Lady," Gandalf mutters.

"Most displeased…" I hear Aragorn echo as he unsheathes a wicked looking knife.

"I can explain," I begin in my defense.

"I should hope so. How could you leave me in such a predicament? I grow tired of being constantly ill and appearing weak. I AM NOT WEAK!" Frodo exclaims.

"Of course you're not. How dare you leave my Master like this, you despicable woman?" Sam shouts.

"I fully plan to continue. In fact, I am almost finished with the next chapter. I hope to have it posted in the next couple of days, I promise you," I entreat them.

"I understand you enjoy writing h/c. The hurt part I am all too aware of, but where is this comfort you speak off? And why… why must you torment me in every one of your tales? Why can't you be more like Shirebound? Now HER stories show the true meaning of 'comfort'." All nod their agreement.

"If I have to sharpen this sword one more time, it will be little more than a toothpick," Boromir grumbles. Aragorn snorts and Boromir gives him a threatening glance.

"I have sharpened my axe until it is little more than a hatchet," mumbles Gimli. Pippin and Merry find this very funny and start to giggle. The dwarf is not amused.

"And how come we have such small meaningless parts in this story of yours? Where's the levity? Where's the singing and dancing?" Pippin pipes in.

"Well…I …didn't think it was appropriate, considering the darkness of the tale," I try to explain.

"Exactly! And why is that, by the way? Hobbit's are gay and sweet characters. Your fictional depictions of us are so dark and brooding. Oh, how I long to have a good day just for once," Frodo says longingly.

"I give you my most profound apologies. I have been so busy with real life issues plus I have company coming and surgery planned for next month…" They all roll their eyes having heard these same excuses multiple times.

"Surgery? What kind of surgery?" Aragorn asks his face perking up at the chance to be involved in yet another healing adventure.

"Ummm…. it is of a personal nature. Female problems, you understand," I say, blushing.

"Ooooh, might I be involved? I very seldom have a chance to treat anyone but Frodo and a woman would be MOST interesting," he says enthusiastically.

"Aragorn! Try to focus on the issue at hand for a change," Gandalf chides. Aragorn gives him a longsuffering look. While the prospect of having the ranger near me is enticing, having him see my huge body splayed out on an operating room table is not, and I politely decline to his great disappointment.

"Perhaps WE should write an angst, h/c tale about Tree," offers Frodo. His look of vindictive glee is enough to make my blood run cold. "Yes, we could put her through all sorts of unpleasantness…an infection, or blood loss or, well, Aragorn you know far more about this than I do. Don't you think it would be fun or, at the least, just compensation for our being stranded like we have?" Frodo looks WAY too enthusiastic about this idea for my taste, and I begin to feel an urgent need to return to my computer and retrieve my unfinished chapter.

"We shall discuss this later. It might prove a welcome diversion," Aragorn muses, as he looks me up and down. Frodo pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill and begins to jot down some ideas for my upcoming torment. I gulp.

At that moment Legolas comes bounding into the room. "I found the most unusual creature for our supper, Sam." He holds up a porcupine, his face full of boyish glee.

"I ain't skinnin' that unnatural critter," Sam mutters.

Legolas's face falls. "Well, what do you expect? We've been here so long I've killed all of the edible animals," he shoots me a deadly glance.

"Those quills might make nice toothpicks, what with all the meat we've been forced to eat," Sam says shooting me a meaningful look.

I gulp. "Soon, I promise you, I will update soon."

"See that you do, Madame. I grow weary of this constant sickliness. It's time to move on, I say," Frodo says. All nod their agreement.

Aragorn shoots me a threatening look. "We cannot be held responsible for our actions should you fail in this endeavor. I suggest you 'post', as you say, with all due haste or suffer the consequences."

I swallow thickly; the air fairly palpitates with their rage.

"A blue eyed frog…hmm, it might be interesting," Gandalf muses, looking me over.

I cringe backwards. They all rise and begin to file from the room. "Remember, Tree, you are hereby warned that if no action is taken within four days time, we will be most 'displeased'," he continues. "And put some clothes on, for God's sake. It's usually quite titillating to see a bit of a woman's leg, but I am afraid, my dear, that in your case it is an unpleasant sensation." I look down at my hairy white legs and have to agree with the wizard.

As they leave I receive an assortment of unpleasant glances and quickly move to my computer, blowing off the dust, and settle in to write more of the saga of Frodo and the Ring of power.


	16. Epilogue

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate; my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Frodo awoke briefly, only aware that he was some place warm and secure. The body that was wrapped protectively around his own, shifted and he felt himself being carried tenderly and then laid onto soft bedding. He whimpered at the loss of the person who had held him so lovingly but sank, nonetheless, into the pallet. He slept.

"…Wake him? Needs to eat somethin'… will rouse soon…. Exhausted…battle worn…"

He heard these words, not immediately comprehending they're meaning. He struggled towards wakefulness and gradually his eyes slit open. Aragorn and Sam were doing something with the blankets and then he felt his rear end lifted as someone began wiping him with a warm, wet cloth then he was being wrapped within some sort of nappy. This, more than anything, brought him to full awareness.

"What…?" He murmured.

"There, there, Master, nothin' for you to concern yourself with. "Just takin' care o' your business is all." Sam said, soothingly.

Frodo relaxed then, as the full meaning of the words registered, his eyes flew open. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

"Jes' doing for you is all, jus' like normal. You can't very well do for yerself jes yet. It ain't no problem. Jes' usin' some o' that left over nightshirt that weren't cut into strips. They're lots softer than that wool blanket we tried at first, an' they clean up jes' like they was never soiled. I jes' take 'em outside and let the snow do its business, then wash 'em up nice and clean, let 'em dry so they's nice an' warm like, then we're all set," Sam said, completely unaware of how his words were affecting his Master.

Frodo's face colored almost purple and he weakly tried to bat the gardener away. "Sam! What do you mean by 'taking care of my business'? Just what have you been 'doing for me' anyway? Stop that this instant'" he said pushing at his friend who was engrossed in fastening the nappy. "This is too humiliating to bear. I am completely capable of taking care of my own business, thank you very much, " he said, trying to move away from the wrapping of his most private parts.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but you ain't. Yer weak as a kitten and I mean to make sure yer comfortable. Now, you jes' let me do my duty an' then you can do yers', if you take my meanin', the gardener said with a smile.

If possible Frodo blushed an even brighter red. "I most certainly will not, now stop what you are doing this minute," he commanded weakly.

Aragorn smiled down at the distraught Ringbearer. "Frodo, we couldn't very well let you lay in your own filth, now could we? Don't let it concern you. We've been doing this for quite some time now," the healer said, using his most clinical tone.

Frodo blushed almost black, then found he had no more energy to fight the two and fell back weakly.

"There, tha's more like it. Finished. Now see that weren't so bad, now was it?" Sam said cheerfully.

Frodo was beyond words and just glared up at the gardener. "This ends now, Samwise. In the future, I will carry out my privy duties without further assistance," Frodo growled.

Showing a rare moment of temper, Sam turned on him. "You will do whatever it takes to get better, Mr. Frodo. And if that means I have ta' clean you up and all, tha's the way it's gonna be, you here me?"

Frodo's eyes widened at the vehement tone. He had never seen this side of Sam. He could see the concern and stubborn refusal to be browbeat in Sam's eyes and laid back, resigned to his fate.

"I'm right sorry, Mr. Frodo, for speakin' outta line an all, but you need to know that we're only tryin' to see that you get well. When Strider here says yer well enough to be up I'll help you to the privy, but until then I mean to keep takin' care o' you jes' like always." Sam rose stiffly and left.

"Aragorn… who else … who else is helping me to 'do my duty'?" Frodo said nervously.

"Just myself and Sam, Frodo. Try to put it out of your mind. If you feel stronger, next time, perhaps we can arrange for you to use the pot like the others," he said with a smile.

This seemed to mollify the Ringbearer and he sank back down muttering only '… humiliating' under his breath.

Aragorn smiled once again. "All right, Frodo, now that that is behind us," he snickered at his little play on words as Frodo glared up at him, "I think we should discuss some of the events of the last few days." The ranger's demeanor abruptly changed. He looked down at Frodo with steely determination. "You are never again, to open my healer's pouch unless I give you permission. Some of the contents, given in too large a dose, will act as a poison especially to hobbits that are significantly smaller than men. Do we understand each other?"

Frodo looked guiltily up at the future King. "I… I am sorry, Aragorn. I was not myself, I assure you, and would never have done it if not influenced by Lorelei. Was anyone hurt? Is everyone alright now?" He said with concern.

"Yes, they are all well now. But this could have been most serious had I not awakened when I did. I understand that you were being influenced by Saruman, who cares little for what would have happened to the members of the Fellowship, but I need your assurances that in the future, you will try to use better judgment and let your subconscious mind be your guide."

Frodo nodded emphatically. "I will, Aragorn."

"Very good. Now tell me how you are feeling," the healer said as his mien changed to a clinical one.

"Sore and drained. My wounds are troubling me, I am afraid, and my head is pounding." Frodo said weakly.

"We can remedy that easily enough, my friend. I will prepare some willow bark tea and perhaps, add a very small amount of mandrake root to help dull the pain. I hesitate to use the mandrake root, as it can be poisonous if given in too large a dose. But if I give you only a flake or two it should be sufficient considering your body size," he mused. "Speaking of body size, Frodo, you need to regain some of your weight. Are you hungry?"

"Starved!" said the hobbit, his eyes lighting up. "I don't suppose Sam has prepared one of his glorious meals lately?"

Sam, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation from beside the fire, spoke up. "I got some rabbit stew a' cookin' and some o' those fried biscuits to go with it, Mr. Frodo. Mr. Legolas has been right good 'bout keepin' us all in meat. If'n you don' want that I can make up a nice broth for ya, and fry up some mushrooms to go with it," the gardener said hopefully.

"Oh Sam, you are a marvel," Frodo whispered. "I could eat a bear, right now. I'd love to have some of your stew and biscuits, oh and a whole plate of mushrooms, if you have them," the hobbit said, obviously ravenous.

Aragorn and Sam chuckled at Frodo. "Be ready in a shake, Master," Sam said as he stirred up the fire and retrieved the dried mushrooms from his pack. He placed a small pot of water on the coals and dropped the mushrooms in to plump them up then dropped them into a pan sizzling with fat. The aroma of the delectable dish filled the cave and soon Frodo's mouth was watering in expectation.

A cup of the medicinal tea was brought to him; flavored with the secreted ginger, and then Sam was by his side with a plate and bowl filled with food. He ate hungrily and when sated sank back against his bedding. His stomach full, his eyes began to drift close. The last thing he heard was the gentle chuckling of Gandalf as the Istari sank down beside him.

Seven days passed before Aragorn deemed Frodo fit for travel. Bill was packed up and knapsacks were shouldered as Frodo was lifted into Aragorn's arms. He frowned, saying that he could walk, but when Aragorn placed him on his feet, he was overwhelmed by dizziness and his hip began to throb painfully. At last, he acquiesced and was lifted once more into the mans' arms, his body cradled within the crook of Aragorn's arm and secreted beneath the Ranger's cloak.

They exited the cave, giving one last look back at the place that had, for so long, been their home.

Pippin's eyes widened as they began their descent. "Gandalf look!" he said pointing up the path past the caves' mouth. The Fellowship looked to where he was pointing. What they saw caused all of them to gasp in surprise. The blizzard had all but stopped below the caves' entrance, but above it the Redhorn Pass was indiscernible, the snow coming down heavily.

"Saruman has closed the pass to us, but there are other ways which we make take, although I am loathe to do so," Gandalf said sadly.

"I'm sorry, Gandalf. I have delayed our journey because of my stubborn pride," Frodo said worriedly.

Gandalf rallied and turned to the hobbit, whose face peeked from beneath the cloak. "Nonsense, my boy, there is yet hope, and you are not to blame for our delay. It is fate, and no man, or hobbit, can control or direct fate. We will travel, hopefully safely, to Hollin. There we will decide our next course of action."

Frodo nodded and ducked beneath the cloak once again. Gandalf looked up at Aragorn, who studied the wizard, openly concerned. "There is yet hope," the Istari whispered.

The End


End file.
